Interpersonal Interactions
by laureleaf
Summary: A series of semi-connected scenes exploring the relationships between the crew, set in my "Dancing with Demons" AU. Latest chapter: Bobby saves some unexpected ijits from themselves.
1. Stars and Scars

A/N: Just some random roughly-chronological scenes from daily life on the _Serenity_ with Sam and Dean. They were fun to write, but I couldn't quite get them all to coalesce into a full-fledged story, sorry. Hope you enjoy anyway: reviews are love. Stay shiny!

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"So, how _do_ you take down a Reaver ship?" Mal took a seat next to Dean. It was ship's night, and _Serenity_ was silent except for the low rumble of her pampered engines. The Captain had to admit that the eldest Winchester was a bang-up pilot. Not as good as Wash, of course, but no one could be that good.

"Carefully," the younger man said flatly. He reached forward to fiddle with a couple of knobs. It was clearly a delaying tactic, but Mal had all the time in the 'Verse.

"I would have the figuring of that," he drawled, spinning so his chair faced backwards and he was looking Dean head-on.

" _You_ can't replicate it," the pilot stared through the window into the Black. "Not the way I do it, at least."

"Anything can be copied, son," Mal started.

"I ain't your son," Dean snapped back. "And no, it can't." His tone brooked no argument.

The captain drummed his fingers in frustration. "Your daddy could do it, you said. How'd he manage?"

Dean quirked a proud grin despite his earlier antagonism. "The same way you make anything stay dead. Iron and fire and silver and salt: lots of it. He was just better at killin' than most, and a clever _hwen dan_ to boot."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "You can't be suggesting that he just waltzed into and out of the Reavers' loving arms? _Fa feng_!"

"I'm not suggesting, I'm telling," Dean smiled lazily. "Dad was something else."

Mal let that one go for a moment. He'd heard the stories during the War. _John Winchester is a mean sonofabitch, so mean that_ demons _run from him. John Winchester took down two transports with one faulty grenade and a gorram spear. John Winchester won against three-to-one odds at Columbiam. John Winchester can't be killed._

That last one was a lie, obviously. Dean had confirmed his father's death himself. The other stories were probably false too. But when a man with scars like Dean's started telling stories, well, Mal knew enough to listen.

"Well, if I can't do it like you do, then there's no harm in telling me how you go 'bout doing it," Mal reasoned. Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye like he knew exactly what the Browncoat Sergeant was doing.

"You're a good man, Malcolm Reynolds," Dean said after a moment. He kept his eyes firmly on the stars ahead of them. The view from the cockpit was by far the best on the ship, Mal would readily admit, but it was clear it wasn't what the pilot was seeing right now. "You took on Simon and River when you had no good reason to, and plenty of reasons to leave them behind. Same with me and Sam. I see how you are around Kaylee. I'm not sure what your deal is with Inara, exactly, but she's a respectable Companion and that has to count for something. Zoë respects you, and earnin' and keepin' the trust of a woman like that ain't easy." Mal kept his mouth shut. He treated people right according to his code. If that matched up with Winchester's, then all the better. "Which is why I'm not going to lie, but I'm also _not_ going to tell you the truth."

"Why not?" Mal felt his ire rising. What was this Winchester trying to hide?

"Would you tell Kaylee exactly what happened in Serenity Valley?" Dean asked abruptly. "Would you tell her what thousands of rotting corpses smell like, or how many men you put down so they didn't have to suffer no more because you knew the medicine wouldn't come in time to save them? No. Because you're a good man who protects a good crew, Malcolm Reynolds."

Mal started to get a sneaking suspicion of what Dean was driving at, and he didn't like it, not one bit.

"I'm not a good man, Captain. I've done things…" Dean's scarred fingers clenched into an unconscious fist around the yoke. "But I'm not so bad as to burden you with this. Suffice to say that when the Reavers come a-knockin', I'll gank the lot. You and your crew are safe with me; that I'll swear on Sam's life."

The pilot pulled a flask out from underneath the console and offered it to him. Mal drank deep, but Dean drank deeper.

"So I heard you were there when the _Assurity_ went down," Dean abruptly changed the topic. Mal didn't like that the pilot hadn't answered his original question, but he couldn't make the man talk if he didn't want to. And honestly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer anymore.

"I was," he answered proudly. "But the stories don't quite get it quite right…"


	2. Friends and Engines

"Look at that beauty" Kaylee breathed. She'd not seen an Impala-class cruiser in a _looong_ time. This one looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean swell with pride. It had taken her a few days, but the sight of the large crimson gash that bisected the right side of his face no longer shocked her. There were other scars too-on the bridge of his nose, across his eyebrows, through his ears, over his lips- but that was the most eye-catching one.

"Let me show you the engine," the pilot rolled up his sleeves. His right arm was marked with a sort of burn that stood out among the tangle of overlapping scars. A right angle and two lines. Almost like a symbol, but Kaylee didn't recognize it. It didn't seem to be the sort of wound that happened accidentally or in a fight. None of Dean's scars did, actually. Sam had never said anything about them, and Dean all but pretended they didn't exist. Mal told the old crew when they took the Winchesters aboard that they weren't to ask because it was none of their business. They made Dean look scary, but he was just a soft teddy bear inside. Anyone who'd ever seen him with Sam could see that.

Kaylee forgot about Dean's past when he opened the door to the engine room. It was tiny: Impalas weren't that large. In their day, they were the top of the line for personal short-range space travel. Families had used them to cruise between the Core planets for vacations. Impalas were designed to look good and go fast and have comfortable seating, but not much else. Most burned out after a decade or so because their owners didn't know how to take care of them.

Dean knew how to take care of his Baby.

It was clear that he'd rebuilt or modified most of the engine. It still ran fast, but it could also run _long_. There were twice as many redundant systems as what came standard. Despite all the modifications, the engine still purred like a contented panther underneath her hand.

"Wo bu shin wo dah yan jing," Kaylee shook her head in appreciative wonder. Dean puffed up a bit with pride. "How did you get around the Marigold Paradox?" she muttered under her breath as she stuck her head under the main axle.

"You're looking in the wrong spot, sweetheart," Dean laughed. "I'll show you."

He was a good mechanic, she had to give him that. Dean was largely self-taught and instinctual, like Kaylee. He liked setting things up a little differently than her, but that was ok. Every mechanic had their own little quirks. That, and an Impala was an entirely different beast than a Firefly.

They talked shop and told stories about various engine problems. She would have thought that he would be super-serious, but he was anything but. Kaylee was surprised to find that Dean had a wicked sense of humor that perfectly complimented her own. Soon they were swapping dirty jokes and dirtier stories and laughing their fool heads off. She saw the pilot give her a questioning once-over with his eyes, but she shook her head.

"Not my type, sorry," she shrugged. "Although I'm sure you'd be an _excellent_ ride." Dean's smirk faltered slightly, but he quickly rallied.

"I don't do well with relationships in general," the pilot shrugged back. "But if you'd like some tips on how to blow that pretty-boy-doctor's mind…"

Kaylee smiled. She could sense that this was the start of an excellent friendship.


	3. Names and Memories

"Your daughter is very happy today," Sam says to Zoë. Next to her, a red-headed child plays with some toy dinosaurs. The girl shrieks with laughter as she smashes the crudely shaped plastic against the dashboard.

Zoë looks at him strangely, and places her hands on her belly like she's ill. Sam voices his concern for her health, but she just shakes her head.

"Didn't know she was a 'she'," Zoë whispers. "Even Simon can't tell yet."

Sam turns towards the child. They're clambering up onto the empty co-pilot seat so they can stare at the flashing lights. Their long red hair is carefully plaited and tied with yellow ribbons. Sam thinks it's fairly obvious that they're a girl, but some cultures don't like to assign gender until the child is older. That's ok. Sam doesn't even know _where_ they are today, and he has a suspicion that he's wrong about the _when_. It makes perfect sense to him that some people struggle with determining _who_ they are, and that sometimes other people answer the question wrong for them. He can give the kid some time to figure it out for themselves. He gently nudges the toddler's hands away from the buttons so they don't accidentally pilot them into a star.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Charlie," the young one smiles with a grin that hasn't quite grown in yet. "Imma gonna fwy!"

"Fllllly," Sam draws out the 'L' sound to help the child overcome their lisp. Zoë looks at him oddly. "Charlie wants to be a pilot like their father," Sam tells her. She just gets that sick look on her face again at the mention of her dead husband.

"I thought you said she was a girl? Charlie's a boy name." Sam appreciates the fact that Zoë doesn't just dismiss him out of hand like Jayne or Mal. She doesn't pity him like Inara and Cas either. She just takes the information at face value, and asks for clarification when she needs it.

Sam just shrugs. "It's just a collection of syllables. There's no intrinsic correlation between them and genitalia."

"I suppose not," Zoë smooths her dress again, her baby-bump small but obvious this time. Sam looks back to check on Charlie, but they're gone. Gāisǐ de. He thought he was getting better at determining which people were Real and which were hallucinations. In his defense, Charlie really is _here_ and _now_ , just not in the form Sam saw.

Wash comes to stand behind Zoë, his hands on her shoulders and a melancholy sort of smile on his face. Sam knows that Wash is dead, so he doesn't interact with him unless they're alone. He's not a ghost: ghosts smell like ozone and make River scream. More like a memory made visible. Sam doesn't mind the Memories: they're easy enough to ignore. He hates the Visions that split his head open and make his nose bleed and make Dean so scared. There's not much he can do about those, beyond taking Simon's Core-strength pain meds and heeding the warnings of the future.

Sam knows from painful experience that talking about Wash makes Zoë upset, so Sam pointedly ignores the brightly-clothed man and stares at the stars flashing by their windshield instead. It doesn't matter if they're _here_ or _now_ or even Real, because they're always the same regardless. Zoë seems to feel the same way, and they watch the 'Verse fly by in companionable silence.


	4. Beaches and Reality

A/N: This one is for bagelcat1. Thanks for the reviews and the prompt!

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Zoë sighed with relief as she settled into Kaylee's lawn chair. Her toes curled happily in the sand as a small wave washed over her feet. She tipped her new floppy hat (courtesy of _Jayne_ of all people) to limit the glare of the pleasantly warm sun.

"Charlie likes the beach," River said beside her. Zoë glanced her direction. River was wearing one of her typical diaphanous dresses, her hair wild, looking like some spirit of the waters. Zoë winced a little as her baby kicked. Not long to go, now. She felt a spike of worry. How was she going to raise her daughter without Wash? The last few months had been the hardest of her life, the War included. And it was only going to get harder. She didn't know the first thing about children. It had been different when Wash was alive. He had a way with kids, and had enjoyed being with them. Zoë's insistence to have children was partially because she knew how happy they would make her husband and how good of a father he would make. She didn't regret getting pregnant, but she did worry that she wasn't going to give her baby the childhood she deserved.

"Her name is _Emma_ ," Zoë corrected for the umpteenth time. "Don't know why you and Sam keep insistin' otherwise."

"She named herself," Sam said. After getting them settled on the beach, Dean had left with Kaylee to shop for some much-needed parts at the local Bazaar. Mal was off looking for a job with Simon and Cas. Inara was with a client, as usual, leaving Jayne and Zoë to watch Sam and River. It was admittedly an odd group, but so far everything had worked out all shiny. Jayne had commandeered a lifeguard tower and was brooding up there like a tempermental pelican. Zoë relaxed in the chair Kaylee had insisted on setting up for her, keeping an eye out as River and Sam caught up on some of their lost childhoods. Sam had spent a good long while just standing at the tide line, watching the water and absentmindedly picking up shells. River had eventually pulled him into the lake, and they'd been splashing about for the last hour or so. It was a comforting sight to see. Peaceful-like. Happy. One Zoë hadn't seen near enough of the past few years.

"The fish are plentiful, but the raptors are few," River observed. Sam smiled at her in that love-sick way that hurt something deep in Zoë's heart.

"Perhaps you should fetch a raptor and bring home some fish for the chicks," Sam replied, pointing at a small food hut further down the beach. River pecked a light kiss on his cheek before dancing towards Janye. Every now and again, she was forced to twirl around some lounging couple or relaxing family. The beach wasn't full, but it wasn't empty either. Zoë didn't take her eyes off the girl until she was safely in Jayne's charge.

Sam gave a yelp and dodged suddenly, slipping into the water with a splash and frantically backpedalling on all fours until he was back on dry land. Zoë tried to leap to her feet, but her rounded belly and aching back prevented any sort of fast movement. She aborted the maneuver and instead focused on casing their surroundings. Nothing to see but the occasional seagull and gentle waves and the stares from nearby folks. A couple of teens were pointing and laughing. Zoë glared until they quieted.

"That wasn't real, was it," Sam swept wet bangs from his face. Something about the way he said it made it clear it wasn't really a question.

"Not that I can see, honey," Zoë said comfortingly.

" _Yi da dwei bun chou roh_ ," Sam muttered vehemently before tipping his head back, eyes closed, and taking a deep breath. "Sorry if I splashed you." He had, but she didn't mind.

"It's the beach. I was bound to get wet sooner or later," Zoë shrugged. "Give me a hand; I'd like to wade a bit." She didn't really need the help, but it would give Sam something to concentrate on other than his shame, and it would give them an excuse to get away from the stares long enough for the _sha gwa_ to find something else to gawk at.

Sam was almost comical in his flustered attempts to help her to her feet and to steady her as she waddled knee-deep into the water. It was pleasantly cool, and the sand was heaven on her swollen feet. Being pregnant was _joo fuen chse_.

Sam was quiet and subdued. Probably fretting over his little slip with reality. Zoë felt herself grow unusually angry at the youths that had laughed at him. If she saw them again, they were getting a large piece of her mind.

"Shut _up_!" Sam hissed under his breath. "Sorry," he glanced at Zoë. "Just…"

"Don't need to apologize to me, honey," she squeezed his arm reassuringly. Enough was enough. They were having a good day, gorramit. The Academy had taken enough from Sam already. She wasn't going to let their meddling take this lovely time at the beach away from him too. Dean spoke of a Devil that sometimes tormented his brother with lying words and cruel jokes. She suspected that was the visage that Sam's current hallucinations were taking.

"Fetch me a stone? I'd like to skip one," she said guilelessly. Sam bent down to do as she asked, but he always kept half an eye on a spot just off his right shoulder. The rock was well balanced, about the size of her palm. Perfect.

"Get lost _guay toh guay nown_! If I see you around here again, you are _wong dahn_!" she swore loudly as she flipped her wrist, sending the rock crashing through the spot Sam had been watching so warily. " _Gwon ni tze jee duh shr_ you _ta ma de hun dan_!" Sam just stared at her in shock. The whole beach was probably doing the same.

Whatever. Let them gawk at the crazy pregnant woman. She could do as she liked and swear at what she wished. One of the few perks to her condition. No apparition was going to ruin Sam's good day.

"He gone?" she asked Sam in a more reasonable tone of voice. He jerked his head in a nervous nod. "Good. _Chui se!_ " she shouted at the peaceful waves for good measure.

"Thanks," he smiled tightly.

"You see anything else that don't belong, you let me know," Zoë started walking back towards her chair. She could see River and Jayne headed that way with boxes of food. The nervous grip on her arm loosened slowly as Sam relaxed.

"You don't need to worry," he tilted his head, considering her.

"I know I don't," Zoë huffed. "What I kill stays dead. And even if they don't, I know you can take care of yourself."

"That's not what I meant," Sam's cheeks colored underneath his new tan. "I mean that you don't need to worry about Charlie. You're gonna make a great mom."


	5. Monsters and Men

A/N: Another prompt from bagelcat1. This one takes place at the same time as the previous chapter. I know nothing of spaceship mechanics, so all part names are the result of a semi-controlled keyboard smash. Warnings for foul language (in bastardized Chinese, taken from the Firefly wiki) and sexual harassment.

* * *

"Oooh look!" Kaylee called out. Dean looked up from where he'd been sorting through a box of screws. Most of them were of the basic sort, but every now and then he'd come across a rarity. Dimly, he heard the doorbell clang as a few more customers entered the store. It was a large place, so their presence didn't bother him overmuch. Not like the crowded market they'd spent a good hour shoving through earlier. People weren't meant to be packed in like cattle herded towards a slaughterhouse. It made his scars itchy, and not in a peaceful sort of way either.

"Find a holdtrun converter?" he asked.

"No, silly, a periodot coupling!" she gushed, holding up the item in question. He stepped around a towering pile of screwhold tiles to get a better look. _Ai ya,_ she was right. Periodot couplings were ridiculously versatile if you knew what you were doing, but most places didn't carry them because most _buhn dahn_ were too stupid not to electrocute themselves with one.

"Shiny," Dean drawled in appreciation.

"I thought I saw some twizzleers back here too," Kaylee practically vibrated with happiness. Dean felt his mouth curl into a small grin. He enjoyed spending time with her: she reminded him to take simple pleasure in simple things. His life was too gorram complicated most of the time.

Dean dug through a few more of the disorganized boxes, hoping to find another periodot coupling. He wasn't that lucky, unfortunately. But he did find some nice titanium-alloy cables and oolar plugs. He was in the process of untangling the former from the latter when a whistle pierced the otherwise quiet shop.

"Ooooooeeeee! Lookit that _jien huo._ C'mere little girl, let us see your _shanque._ "

The Darkness within reared its ugly head at the crass words. His blood pumped overloud in his ears as he fought his way through the maze of old ship parts.

"Sure, I'll show you. One tit for one functioning brain cell, how about that?"

Her reply made him all the prouder of his sassy-mouthed mechanic. But just because she could take care of herself didn't mean Dean wasn't going to rip those idiot's lungs out. Slowly. The Darkness coiled in pleased anticipation in his gut.

"Hey! Don't turn your back on me you _meh lien duh jyah jee_!"

There was the sound of a hand slapping against fabric. Dean was close. Just a few more steps around this rack and then he was going to tear those _wong ba duhn_ a new one or three. The Darkness pulled him forward, eager to make the assailants _scream._

"Well, it's clear that you don't have no sense in either of your heads. I'm not obligated to show you anything at all, you _ben tian sheng de yi dui rou!_ "

"Pretty girl like you comes to a place like this, whatcha think was gonna happen?"

Dean felt his fingers curl into a fist. Not around his gun. No. Guns would be too fast. Not around one of his many knives either. He didn't want to get his fine blades dirty with their filthy blood, after all.

"I expected to buy some parts for my ship. This is a mechanics shop, after all. Just cuz you're too stupid to understand 'no' doesn't mean I hafta say 'yes'."

Kaylee finally came into view. One man was standing in front of her, the other behind her with a hand on her shoulder. The Darkness sang in his ears, promising to wreak just vengeance.

The _hwen dan_ never saw Dean coming. Kaylee let out a little yelp of surprise as the first man went down like a flimsy wall under Dean's wrecking ball of a fist. The second man tried to take a swing at Dean, but he caught the tattooed arm as it passed harmlessly through the air by his chin and promptly broke it. The Darkness crowed triumphantly in his veins, urging him to greater violence. These _ung jeong jia ching jien soh_ deserved to bleed.

But then he caught sight of Kaylee, her eyes wide with fear. Fear of _him_.

Dean staggered back from the groaning men, the Darkness screaming its frustration at being denied further bloodshed. It burned it's retribution through his veins, making him shudder with pain and longing. It was all the harder because _he_ wanted to make these filth suffer, make them beg for the mercy he would not give. Not because the Darkness relished fury, but because they had threatened the closest thing he had to a little sister, and that made him _furious_.

Incidentally, the reason why he was so close to giving into the Darkness was also the one reason why he _could not_. Not in front of sweet Kaylee.

He forced himself to breathe deep and slow, pulling the Darkness back under his control one tense heartbeat at a time. He focused on Kaylee, her trembling visage giving him the focus he needed to unclench his fists. She looked so small, so scared. _Diminished._ That wasn't right at all.

"Let's go," he said softly, holding out his now-relaxed hand. She stepped nervously around the bodies on the floor and tucked herself under his arm. He didn't bother paying for the parts in Kaylee's basket, just as he totally ignored the stares he got by carrying around the pink flouncy thing through the market. He led them back to the beach where they'd left Sam and the others, Kaylee unusually subdued the entire way.

Lucky for them, there was a blanket covered with food already there and waiting. River dashed over to meet them halfway.

"Monsters in men's faces," she tilted her head like a questioning bird as she looked between them. "And men in monster's faces."

"That's right, River." Kaylee looked up at Dean and gave him a fervent side-hug. "But Dean don't have no monster face: he's too handsome. I prefer to think of him as 'rugged'."

Dean couldn't help the small smile that pulled on the corner of his scarred lips.

"How was shopping?" Zoë called from the blanket.

Kaylee's face fell for a moment. Dean nudged her basket back into her hands.

"You even managed to salvage the periodot coupling! And look at these oolar plugs!" her face broke into an infectious smile. "Look Zoë!"

Soon everyone was settled comfortably on the blanket, chatting animatedly about their respective discoveries and adventures over the course of the morning. The last tendrils of Darkness released their grip on Dean's heart as his family laughed around him.


	6. Bullets and Bastards

A/N: Not a perfect fit for bagelcat1's prompt: "Simon patching up Dean and they try and 'chat'", but I had a lot of fun writing it. Warnings for foul language (in bastardized Chinese taken from the Firefly Wiki) and complete lack of supporting text. I take prompts from other people too, so if there's something you want to see, just PM me. (Doesn't have to be this story/fandom either.) Thanks for reading/following/reviewing!

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"You _can't_ be serious."

"Just get on with it, doc. Prolly ain't gonna stop bleedin' on its own."

"You can't expect me to do major surgery on you without anesthetic!"

"It's not _that_ major, and I can and I do. Now, them folk outside are mighty angry, and until Kaylee can get the ship airbourne we're sitting ducks. Your anesthetic will keep me down and out for what, two hours?"

"Fifteen minutes, at most."

"But groggy for much longer."

"...yes."

"And we can't afford that. We need me up there, fightin'. Or with Kaylee, fixin'. So do your gorram job so I can do mine!"

"I'm _trying_ to, but you won't let me!"

" _Ta ma duh!_ I'll do it myself then, you _hwen dan_."

"What are you doing! Stop, you'll…"

" _Go shi_!"

"...you'll do that. I don't know why I even bother trying to help you stubborn _sha gwa_."

"Language, fancy-pants."

"Real funny, Mr. Kettle. You learn your lesson yet?"

"No."

"Let me at least give you some Abrillexi, it won't knock you out but…"

"No. Those are for Sammy."

"He's not the only one that can use them."

"He needs them more than me, what with his Visions and all."

"Doc! Where's Dean? Mal wants him topside, ASAP!"

"Told you."

"Fine. You die from shock and I'll laugh at your funeral."

"Appreciate the concern, pretty-boy, but I've lived through much worse than your lame threats."

"DOCTOR!"

"I'm working on it, Zoë, just give me a minute! It's a gunshot wound, not a gorram scuffed knee!"

"It's really more like a graze."

"Shut up and hold still. Because you're a _buhn dahn_ this will hurt."

" _Ta ma de hun dan! Wong ba duhn! Qing wa cao de liu mang_!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, Dean?"

"Kiss... my... ass… Zoë!"

" _Ching ahn jing yi dien!_ I can't hear myself think in here… Ha! Got it. Now just hold still a moment so I can… I said _hold still_ , you _ching soh_! I'm not done yet!"

"Any day now doc."

"Five minutes Zoë. Give me five minutes to make sure he's not going to die of internal bleeding. Ok?"

"I've already been down here too long. Should have never left. Gotta…"

"You gotta stay right where you are, mister, or I'll shoot you up with enough tranquilizers to kill an elephant, so help me."

" _Tai kong suo you di xing qui dou sai jin wo de pi gu_."

"Fine. Say you run off and do some thrilling heroics and rupture your intestines. Who's going to take care of Sam then, hm?"

"Low blow, doc."

"I do what I have to. Now sit back and relax for five minutes."

" _Chiu se, liu kou shui de biao zi he hou zi de er zi._ "

"Now is that anything to say to someone who just saved your life?"

"You should hear what I have to say to people who try to kill me."


	7. Flirtations and Scars

Dean knows the rules: the Companion and her services are completely off limits to the crew. He's not much for rules in general, but then he sees the way Inara looks at the Captain, and how Mal looks at her. Dean isn't getting in the middle of that mess for all the contraband in the hold, thank you very much. There's enough chaos and crazy in his life already, courtesy of Sam.

Doesn't mean he can't admire the scenery, though. From a safe distance, of course.

Inara stares at his scars, but she doesn't shy away from them like most people do. She traces the one that splits the right side of his face, from hairline to jaw line in a sharp vertical valley.

"The men on Verbena celebrate their victories with scars," she cocks her head and her hair spills across her shoulders in the most alluring way. "They cannot love a woman until they have a certain number."

"Is that so?" Dean grunts. He's always awkward with the Companion, torn between two conflicting paths. His lower brain knows _exactly_ what he'd like to do: show her that he's earned his scars and knows how to love a woman well. His upper brain knows that if he lays a single finger on her, Mal will split his skull along the same line as his second-deepest scar, assuming that Inara doesn't do so first.

"They decorate their bodies with beautiful wounds," Inara continues, her fingers trailing lightly down his neck. "The lines wrap around their faces and shoulders like a patterned cape. Your scars remind me of those."

Dean self-consciously rubs his forearms as he pulls out of her reach. They're rough under his hands, the texture caused by overlapping lines of scar tissue. Burns and cuts and bites and holes, all layered together in a mangled tapestry. Most of them he got in Hell. Some he got before. Some he got later. He keeps them all covered with long sleeves when he can, but there's not much he can do about his face.

Dean's skin (what's left of it, in any rate) is his skin, and he's not ashamed of wearing it. He regrets that his scars make it practically impossible to find a nice lay (he's a damn fine lover, but he's honest enough to admit he's not exactly easy on the eyes anymore), or stay inconspicuous on a job, but he's not _ashamed_ of them. That can't be said for his inner scars, the ones torn into his psyche that will _never_ heal. The Darkness that fills his veins is always just moments away from destroying everything he is and everything he loves. It's a constant fight, a struggle that he'll never win. He's mortified by the choices he's made and the number of people he's hurt. There's no forgiveness for a monster like him, only delayed judgement. There's a sort of poetry in the fact that his scars are a physical manifestation of his inner sins. They act as a warning, one that most people are smart enough to heed.

Not Inara, of course. Most chicks dig scars, but none like quite as many as he has. Inara is unique in trying to imply that his are sexy, and it unsettles him to no end. His scars are his armor and his fortress, keeping people far away where they can't get hurt. To say that they are honorable and even desirable undermines their effectiveness entirely.

"Interesting," Dean mutters as he turns away from Inara. It's difficult enough to speak to her on mundane topics, nevermind one as personal as this.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, you know," she calls softly behind him. He stops mid-stride.

"I'm not."

"I'm a Companion," she steps up behind him. He can feel her breath on his neck, and goosebumps pucker over his scars. "I know how to read and interpret body language. You can lie to the Captain, not that that's difficult, and you can lie to your brother and you can lie to yourself, but you cannot hide this lie from me."

"You misunderstand," he manages to bite out. "I'm not scared _of_ you; I'm confused by you."

"Sometimes, that's the exact same thing," she steps around his shoulder so that she's facing him. "You're not going to hurt me," she asserts. "You want me, but you'll never act on it. You're a gentleman that way, just like Mal. It's terribly attractive," she adds flirtatiously.

Dean shakes his head. This was _exactly_ why he didn't often talk to Inara. He wasn't quite sure how Mal handled this complex blend of sex appeal and danger.

"You read body language, _shì_? Then you can see that I'm terribly uninterested in continuing this conversation."

"I can and I do," Inara flashes him a look under her perfectly-painted lashes that would be absolutely sinful in any other circumstance, but only makes him even more flustered now. "Which is why it's going to be so delightful to have you on this ship. You're a fascinating man, Dean Winchester. I'm going to have a lovely time with you." She sashays off, her hips dancing to a sensuous music only she can hear. He tries not to stare at the mesmerizing sight, only to fail miserably. What a confounding woman!

It's not until he hears Sam laughing under his breath around the corner that he realizes she was playing him like a guzheng, just for the fun of it. He wants to be mad about it, but the longer he listens to his brother's laughter, the more he wants to join in. He's an expert in the art of flirtation, and has charmed more ladies than he can count into his bed, but Inara worked him over so well he didn't even realize it. _Ta ma de hun dan!_

Well, if that's the game they're playing… Dean grins. He won't be caught off guard a second time.

Inara's right: they _are_ going to have a delightful time on this ship.


	8. True Faces

A/N: Based on another prompt by bagelcat1. I'm still trying to figure out the intricacies between Inara and Dean, so bear with me. I'm not translating the Firefly-Chinese curses because I keep losing track of which things mean what as I edit... but I think the meanings are clear from the context. Everything is taken from the wiki if you really want to look it up. Reviews are love, and prompts are awesome!

* * *

"There is no gorram way!"

"Dean…"

"You can't make me! It's _not_ happening!"

Inara pinched the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to ward off her impending headache.

" _Ni men dou bi zui!_ " Mal barked. The room fell blessedly silent for a moment. "Dean. You're gonna let Inara do her thing, _whatever_ that might entail, in order to make it so we don't get humped on this gorram job. And you're gonna do it quiet-like, on account of me being of a testy persuasion lately."

"But…!"

"That's an _order_ ," Mal growled, and Inara could see Dean's spine automatically straighten at the tone.

"Yessir."

"The rest of you, I'm not entirely sure how you got into Inara's shuttle, but I want you to find your way out of it so you can get back to doin' what I pay you for. We leave in an hour got it?"

"Yessir," they all chorused with varying levels of sincerity.

Once they were alone, Inara turned on some music. Not lilting guzhang strains, as per her usual taste, but ancient music from the Earth-That-Was. After all, she was a Companion, and part of that was knowing how to relax a nervous client. Tortured guitars and violent drumming wasn't her idea of relaxing, but it made Dean's shoulders sag imperceptibly.

"Get on with it," he squared his stance as if he was preparing for a beating.

"Just sit still and enjoy the music," she said calmingly.

"Right," he huffed, clearly not believing her. Inara opened the first container and selected her first tool.

* * *

"Don't touch it," she gently slapped his hand away. "It's not dry yet."

Dean just stared, mouth slightly agape.

" _Wo bu shin wo dah yan jing,"_ he said, awestruck.

"It's not the best, but I think it will work," Inara pursed her lips. She was trained in this art, of course, but she doubted this particular application was what her tutors had in mind.

"I think it's _awesome_ ," Dean broke into a huge grin. It's blinding in it's brilliance, and Inara had never seen the like. Certainly not on his face.

"Dean?" Sam called from just outside the door.

"Come in, dude, you gotta see this!" Dean replied enthusiastically. His body language was reminiscent of an excited teen. It's so strange to see _Dean_ , of all people, act that way. He's always so serious, so reserved. Moments later, a familiarly-tousled head stuck around the corner of the doorframe. He stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of his brother.

"D-Dean?" he gasped.

"Check it out, Sammy." The elder Winchester turned side to side like a fashion model. "Got me my handsome mug back."

"Adding layers to reveal what's underneath," River muttered from the door. Inara hadn't heard her come in, but then again, she rarely did.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," Inara smiled. "It took a lot of concealer, and not a little bit of contouring, but I think Mal will be pleased at the result."

She'd been tasked with hiding Dean's highly identifiable scars. A mask or other face covering wouldn't work for this job. Covering over everything was easier said than done: merely powdering over his face still left the ridged texture. She'd ended up having to cake his entire face with several layers of concealer. It filled up the valleys and dulled the peaks, but the bland makeup left his face a featureless blob. She'd then had to painstakingly paint back the natural curves and angles of his underlying features in such a way as to look natural. The result was what she'd imagined his face had looked like before whatever-it-was that had happened. Inara had always known that Dean was once a good-looking fellow from his bone structure and general attitude (handsome men know they are handsome and behave accordingly). But damn. If Dean was as half as handsome as her makeup job suggested, he must have been _breathtaking_.

"When is it?" Sam said in a quietly lost voice. His eyes never left Dean's as he stepped closer. "I thought… I thought… god Dean, we can't let Dad take us to Lilac, there's Reavers and they'll… they'll…"

"It's ok Sammy," Dean repeated, pulling his brother into a hug. "It's ok right now, that's what matters, ok? We're both fine."

"The lighthouse changed his colors," River touched one of Inara's makeup brushes with a delicate finger. "Where is the safe harbor now?"

"Wait… You're not real," Sam pulled away with a sudden jerk. "Dean… Dean had scars before. Before the world shattered. The Real Dean is always Now, but you're not him, because the world is broken now, and you don't have scars, so you're not Real, because you look like Before."

"Sammy, it's just makeup, Inara…"

But Sam was gone, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the quiet ship.

"An anchor will do when the lighthouse is dark," River spun gracefully on her toes before following her lover.

" _Zhen dao mei._ " Dean went to rake a hand over his face, but paused before he touched it.

"Inara! What did you do to break my psychic?" Mal bellowed from down the hall. "We've got a job to do, and we need… oh." The captain looked Dean up and down. "That's a mighty fine job there, Inara."

"Thank you," she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She wasn't meaning for it to be flirtatious, but Mal's lingering gaze made it clear that he was certainly appreciative.

"You good for this?" Mal turned back to Dean.

"This will hold under sweat?" the pilot asked Inara.

"As long as you don't scrub it or get ether on it, you should be fine," she assured him.

"Then I'm good," Dean assured the captain.

"And Sam?"

"We'll make do without him," Mal shook his head with mild frustration. "Assuming he's ok here?"

"River's minding him," Dean stood. "I'll not be able to help him until I get this crap off my face. So the sooner we finish, the sooner I can come back."

* * *

It's a long time before they return.

The job goes well, at least by their definition, which means that Mal only had a mild concussion and Jayne only had one black eye. The hold is full of mostly-legal goods and their bank account balances are slightly larger. There's even the possibility of another job in the future.

Instead of going straight to Sam, as per usual, Dean headed to Inara's shuttle as soon as they left atmo.

"Get it off," he gestured to his face. The makeup is covered with a fine layer of dust, and a small cut near Dean's hairline has bled across some of it, but overall her disguise survived today's adventures intact. She reaches for his chin, but he pulls away to take one long last look in the mirror. He sighs, his expression unreadable but his eyes sad. It almost breaks Inara's heart to witness.

It takes a while to wipe off the caked upper layers of makeup. Even longer to clean between the ridges of scars. They are both silent throughout the process, the sound of dripping water and quiet breathing the only sounds in the small shuttle. With each stroke of her washcloth, Inara washes away a little more of the handsome man with the cocky smile. He's still there, she knows. Deep down under all the layers of pain he hides behind.

"Thank you," Dean whispers once they're almost done. He won't meet her eye. "I haven't… I mean, I didn't… _wong ba duhn_." He's quiet for a long minute. Inara lets him gather his thoughts. "I mean, it's been a long while since I've seen my own face, you know? Not what they did to it. It was nice to… forget. Just for a little bit. To be invisible in a crowd again, that was… To remember what it was to be _me_ Before... " Dean cleared his throat roughly. "So yeah. Thanks."

"You are very welcome."


	9. Milk Run

"Come _on_ Sammy," Dean shouted over his shoulder. Sam banged his head against the doorframe (yet again) in his haste to follow.

"Where're ya goin'?" Kaylee stuck her head out the engine-room door. Her forehead was smudged with grease and her hands twisted in a filthy rag that looked suspiciously like a sock.

"Flyin'," Dean's face melted into a rare heartfelt smile. "Baby's been on lockdown too long. I'm going to take her for a spin to warm up her engines. Wanna come?"

"Do I ever!" Kaylee burst into a grin of her own. "I've been wanting to see that beauty go through her paces ever since I saw her. Gimme five to get cleaned up?"

"That'll give Sammy time to braid his hair," Dean joked good-naturedly. His little brother just shot him a bitch face.

"You should clean off the pull-out seats, Simon has no place to sit," Sam informed his sibling.

"So that's what you were doing all last night," Dean rubbed his temple. "And it figures that fancy-pants is coming," Dean rolled his eyes. "I've not even invited him yet… anyone else I should be expecting?"

"Zoë's with Wash," Sam looked at his brother like he was stupid.

"I'm right here, Sam," the woman in question called up from the bay area below. Her hands smoothed her dress over her ever-swelling belly. "Where you off to?"

"Dean's driving," Sam said like it was a destination.

"We're going to let the aepyceros run unfettered across the plain," River spun out of the hall leading to her bedroom. "Watch their hooves pound up dust like stars."

"The what are runnin' where?" Jayne sat down his weights with a clank. He'd been exercising in the hold, as usual.

"Impala," Cas tilted his head. He'd seemingly appeared on the walkway from nowhere, as was his custom. "Aepyceros is the genus of animals that impalas belonged to. Dean's ship class is named after the fleet-footed creatures."

"Can I shoot 'em?" Jayne asked.

"You're shootin' nothing, 'cept what shoots at us," Mal ordered as he walked in from the kitchen. "If you're headed to town, pick up some water filters and another tub of powdered milk: we're running low."

"Yessir," Dean threw a sloppy salute. "Alright," he called out to the room at large. "Who's coming with and who's staying put?"

In the end, Mal and Zoë were the only ones to remain behind. Mal because he wanted some peace and quiet for once, and Zoë because she didn't want to subject her baby to any excessive G-forces if she could help it. Inara was already in town with a client.

* * *

Most of the crew had never been in the Impala before. It was Dean's sanctuary, after all, and he was ridiculously territorial about it. It was approximately the same size as Inara's shuttle, but with a long rectangular shape instead of an oval. The engine room in the back took up a full quarter of the available space. A kitchenette and a tiny bathroom took up another quarter. There was a gap above both areas just big enough for a mattress and someone to sleep on it. The remaining half was usually an open living area, but it was currently filled with two rows of leather-padded seats. Dean settled into the pilot's chair, while Sam motioned for Kaylee to take his usual co-pilot seat. He sat down next to River, who was seated next to Simon. Jayne and Cas sat in the back. Everyone marveled at the excellent view the large windows afforded as Dean undocked from _Serenity_ and pulled the ship up to a good sight-seeing height. Rolling hills stretched in all directions for as far as the eye could see. The sky was a bright blue overhead, dotted with too-white-to-be-real clouds.

"Town's that way," Dean pointed. A small smudge of civilization could be seen near the horizon. "But I don't want to have to pay a speeding ticket today, so we're going to head this way for a bit to let off some steam. Shiny?"

"Shiny Cap'n," Kaylee chirped. Jayne opened his mouth like he was going to object, but then closed it with a sharp snap when he realized the mechanic was technically correct. This was Dean's ship, after all. The man in question smiled before throwing a few switches.

"Hold on to your hats," was all the warning he gave before the engine gave a mighty roar.

"None of us are wearing head coverings," Cas managed to observe before they were _gone_.

* * *

Jayne raised an eyebrow in appreciation as they sped past the hills with ever-increasing rapidity.

"How fast will this thing go?" Simon asked, his voice almost as tight as his grip on the seat underneath him.

"As fast as I want her to be, and a little faster when I need her to be," Dean smiled cavalierly.

"Why? You scared?" Jayne teased the doctor.

"I have observed this ship traveling at several times the speed of sound," Cas contributed.

"This ship wasn't made to withstand that kind of speed!" Simon squeaked.

"Perhaps not originally," Kaylee spoke up from behind them. She'd gone to check the engine room. "But this ship's been rebuilt at least twice. She'll break the sound barrier with a smile."

"Three times," Sam corrected her. "She's been 'totaled' three times, but Dean seems to like fixing hopeless cases."

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean growled. "And here I was, getting hopeful that I wouldn't have to nurse _Baby_ back to fightin' form again."

"Does that mean we're going to crash?" Simon asked nervously.

"Not today," River patted her brother's arm soothingly. "Everything is perfect today."

"Yes it is," Sam pecked her cheek. She turned to kiss him again on the lips.

"Ugh, get a room," Dean gave them a glare through a rear-facing mirror. "And stay out of my engines!" he added after River glanced suggestively towards the door.

"You were fixin' to break the barrier sometime today?" Jayne brought them back on-topic.

"Already did," Kaylee said with not a little awe in her voice as she consulted one of the readouts on the dash. "Usually there's a bit of a bump when _Serenity_ does that, and she can only do it in space. How'd you manage to pull that off in atmo?"

Dean launched into a complicated discussion of mechanics and various engine modifications.

"The world turns upside down," River stared at the ceiling. Sam turned to stare with her.

"Hey Dean, do a roll!" he called. Without breaking the flow of his discussion with Kaylee, Dean jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. _Baby_ turned over, offering a whole different view of the planet below. _Baby_ didn't have her gravity buffers on because they weren't in space, so everyone's hair hung towards the ceiling. After a long minute, Dean flipped them right side over again.

"I see why you cautioned us to hold on to our headgear earlier," Cas said dryly. River laughed at his hopelessly tostled hair.

"Can you pull an Pugachev's Cobra?" Jayne asked like it was a challenge.

"Please. I pulled my first full Kulbit when I was seven," Dean bragged, flipping a few more switches on his tricked-out dashboard.

"A what?" Simon asked nervously.

River started listing out physics formulas, with Sam chiming in overtop of her after a moment. Castiel listened to them attentively.

Kaylee took pity on her poor confused boyfriend. "For a Pugachev's Cobra, you start like this," she put her hand out, palm to the floor. "Then you tip the nose up like this," she angled her wrist back so that it pointed at a 45-degree angle to its previous position. "And then you pull it a bit further," she bent her elbow so that her fingertips were pointing a few degrees past vertical, "and then you go back down," she moved her hand back parallel to the floor. "It's a test for supermaneuverability, because you can't do it with normal winged plane aerodynamics. You slow down way too much. The wings won't get enough lift, and you'll just fall out of the sky."

"But we don't have wings," Simon pointed out. "Not large ones, anyway."

"We fly on love and dreams," River traced an invisible pattern on the glass.

"A full Kulbit is when you keep tipping until you've done a loop," Kaylee continued. "You can do one with _Serenity_ , but it ain't pretty."

"I'd bet," Dean spoke appreciatively. "Probably blow out the frizzion filters while you're at it."

"You betcha," Kaylee nodded. "But with your hapvees that won't be a problem."

"Here's a practical demonstration, oh ye of limited education," Dean threw a sassy grin at Simon over his shoulder. Moments later, they were tumbling in a head-over-heels loop. River and Sam burst into twin squeals of adrenaline and Kaylee laughed with glee. Dean let out a whoop as he pulled out of the maneuver and immediately turned his ship into a tight sideways spiral. Even Jayne gave an honest laugh as they twisted and turned through the air like a dancer. Cas remained as stoic as ever, while Simon looked increasingly pale.

" _Zhè bǐ zài jī shè lǐ tiàowǔ de jī gèng yǒuqù_ ," Kaylee breathed once it was all over.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Simon groaned.

"Again!" River cheered.

"That's nice and all, but can you do a straight line?" Sam teased his brother.

"I've not had a ride that good since that time I was with a chick named… never you mind," Jayne said with uncharacteristic admiration and characteristic lack of decorum. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Out in the Black," Dean shrugged while turning _Baby_ towards town at a more reasonable speed than before. "Not much to do, and nothing much to hit if you mess up."

"You're _self-taught_?" Simon squeaked.

"Better pilot than Cas, with all his fancy training," Dean shot back defensively.

"He _is_ correct," Castiel informed them, his face as unreadable as ever. "His aptitude tests were truly remarkable."

"Where'd you ever take an Alliance aptitude test, especially if you didn't have no formal training?" Kaylee asked innocently. Dean's hands tightened imperceptibly on the controls.

"Don't forget the milk," Sam said abruptly. "The Captain will miss it on his morning protein." The topic change went unnoticed, since Sam often said such incongruous things. Dean's grip on the steering wheel relaxed slightly.

"We won't, honey," Kaylee soothed.

"Since when does the Captain put milk on anything?" Jayne pointed out.

"Since Charlie started stealing his cereal because it's the only one that's not soggy," Sam said matter-of-factly. Zoë's baby wasn't due for another two months at least. Simon said she was expecting a girl, but Sam and River insisted on calling the child by a boy name, for some inexplicable reason.

"I don't care why we need the milk, as long as I get off this ship alive enough to fetch it," Simon muttered under his breath. Of course, everyone still heard him, and laughed uproariously at his expense.


	10. Doctor's Visit

Sam doesn't like sitting on the examination table, so Simon doesn't ask him to. River's the same way. Considering their past, the doctor can't really blame them. It's honestly a minor miracle that he can convince them to come to the infirmary at all.

Sam hovers at the door, his head almost brushing the top of the doorframe. He was always tall, but now he's getting _broad_ thanks to his daily exercise regime with Jayne. Space was not designed for large men.

"You should restock the bandage cabinet," Sam informs him, in apropos of nothing. "Dean doesn't want Kaylee to catch an infection."

Simon's head snaps up. No one onboard the _Serenity_ has any injuries that Simon knows of.

Sam's eyebrows furrow. "Wait, nevermind, that was before Dean, wasn't it? Kaylee was shot?"

"That was years ago," Simon busies his hands with laying out the tools he needs for Sam's brain scan. "How…" he stops himself from asking. He already knows the answer. River can read minds. Sam can see the future and the past. They live in a spaceship full of criminals on the run from the Alliance. This is Simon's world now. He finds that he doesn't mind it so much anymore. _Serenity_ is his home, and her crew are his family.

"How have your headaches been on the new medicine?" the doctor modifies his question. Sam's headaches are not mere migraines: earlier scans proved that much. Actual tissue was being created and destroyed. Simon wouldn't have believed it possible unless he'd witnessed it with his own eyes.

Sam fiddles nervously with his hands. "Things are better?" His voice is slightly surprised, like he's shocked to discover that he's not in regular agony.

"That's good," Simon soothes. "Could you sit down on the stool? I'd like to take another scan so I can see how your frontal lobe is doing. Hopefully the fact that you've not had any epileptic visions for a while means that it has had a chance to heal."

"Some scars don't heal," Sam informs him with eyes that are too old for his age. But he sits down on the stool without protest. Simon hands him the headgear he needs to wear for the test. One very expensive freakout a few months ago taught him not to assume that anyone besides Dean and maybe River had the right to Sam's personal space. His patient bites his lip nervously before placing the device on his head.

"What's today's date?" he asks in a voice far too small for his large frame.

Simon tells him as he hooks up the wires. He can hear Sam repeating it too himself over the low hum of the machine taking scans.

"You can take that off now," Simon says the instant that he can. Usually, Sam snatches it off of his head like it's on fire. Today, he just grits his teeth and holds the edges of the stool even more firmly.

"I will be fine," he informs Simon quietly. "Keep the scans running."

"Ok," Simon acquiesces, happy to have more time to gather more data. There's something odd about the latest results, but he can't quite put his finger on it…

"Where's Dean?" Sam asks. Simon reflects that he's never heard Sam question where the ship is, or where it is going, only where his brother is located.

"I'm right here," Dean speaks up from the doorway. Simon didn't hear him come in. He never does. Despite the heavy boots and metal-studded leather Dean likes to wear, his approach is always stealthy. Sam's shoulders visibly relax at his brother's voice. "I thought I told you not to start until I was here, Sammy?" Only Dean can call Sam 'Sammy'. Everyone on board learned that _very_ quickly. The older brother's question is a reprimand, but the tone is comforting.

"It's not Simon's fault," Sam says with soft intensity. "He's figured it out."

Simon can hear Dean take a breath to ask for clarification when the readings he's watching go _insane._ He turns to Sam just in time to see his face scrunch with pain as his nose starts pouring blood. Sam tips sideways on the stool, his limbs trembling uncontrollably. Dean and Simon both dart forward to catch the seizing man, but Dean gets there first despite being further away. The machines hooked to Sam's headgear start wailing as almost every metric blows off the charts.

" _Ai yah tien ah,_ " Dean swears over the alarms. "Hold on _di-di_. I've got you." His scars are starkly red against his pale face as he cradles his thrashing brother. Simon marvels at how such a savage visage could mask such gentle care as he dashes towards the cabinet to find some medication that will stop the seizing. This is the first time he's had the proximity and tools to help Sam get through a vision.

"Don't bother with Penthadox; it just makes the bleeding worse," Dean calls as Simon pulls out a syringe pre-filled with orange fluid. The doctor stares at the scarred man in shock. Penthadox is indeed the drug in his hand, and one of the very rare side effects is uncontrolled bleeding. But how on earth would an uneducated Browncoat know anything about that? It wasn't exactly a common medication.

"I read," Dean snaps, seamingly hearing Simon's thoughts. "And I tried a lot of things once I got Sam de-iced. You got any Q'thenadone? That works best."

The drug is the strongest and most dangerous opioid in Simon's arsenal. It stopped all pain dead in its tracks, but it also severely reduced bloodflow to the brain. Simon doesn't want to know how Dean even got his hands on a controlled substance like that. Or how desperate he had to be to actually _use_ it on his precious brother.

"Yes, but..."

Dean barks out a dose. It's appropriate for Sam's age and size, so Simon complies. Dean has obviously done this before, and if anything should go wrong, at least there's a trained professional monitoring the situation this time. Once the medication is administered, the doctor focuses on the various computer screens still tracking Sam's brain activity. Simon never thought he'd be able to catch one of Sam's rare and random epileptic visions near enough to medbay to record it (to date, he's never even been present to witness one), and it is unlikely to the extreme that he'll ever get such an opportunity again. No doubt he will spend hours pouring over the myriad of information they're collecting now in an attempt to piece together what the Academy tore apart.

Simon can see the instant the drug starts to work. The wild readings plummet towards normality, and Sam's quaking becomes a quiver. Dean strokes his brother's sweat-soaked hair and makes a lame joke about it being too long.

Exactly five minutes after it began, Sam sits bolt upright in Dean's arms.

"Turn this ship around," he orders. No one moves. "Turn it around _now_ ," Sam shouts, louder. There's panic in his voice.

"Why?" Mal sticks his head in the door. He must have heard the commotion from the bridge. "Reavers," Sam says flatly, his complexion pale through the blood coating the lower half of his face. "Two reaver ships. They're heading for the colony on Marcus."

"That's where our next job is," Mal narrows his eyes. He knows, just like everyone else in the room, that Sam _never_ seems to know and doesn't seem to care where they are in space. The only two locations that matter are _beside Dean_ and _not in the Academy_.

"I saw Reavers. On _Serenity_ , on the planet," Sam looks sick. "Killing people."

"How many, Sammy?" Dean prods, "How many on the ship?"

"Just one," Sam gives his brother a significant look. "But dozens on the planet," he tells Simon and Mal.

" _Wong ba duhn,"_ Dean swore. "That's the second time you've had this one, right?"

Sam nods before raising his shirt cuff to rub off the blood on his face. His brother beats him to it with a cleaning wipe he pulled from the cabinet somewhere in the scuffle. Simon wishes he had such an easy repartee with his sibling. He also wishes she was half as communicative. She's been better since Sam came aboard, but she'll never just _tell_ him what's going on in her head. At least not in a way he can understand. It's so hard for him to tell what she needs, and he always feels like a failure for missing the mark.

"Turn this ship around, Captain," Dean turns towards Mal. "His visions are never wrong twice."

"Doesn't that mean that there's no escaping?" Simon points out. _Wuh de ma, Reavers._ The thought doesn't panic him like it used to. Watching River take out twenty Reavers single-handedly in front of you will do that.

"It means that Sam's already figured out the best possible scenario, and how to make it happen," Dean snaps. "We can deal with one Reaver on the ship. If we don't do as he says, it could be twenty."

"You're sure," Mal meets his eye.

"Completely."

* * *

A/N: I'm not a doctor, and all I know about seizures I learned from WebMD. All drugs are fake. Don't take opioids without doctor supervision.

According to the _Firefly_ wiki, _di-di_ means 'little brother'. _Wong ba duhn_ means 'son of a bitch'.

I'm still taking prompts, so if there's anything you want to see, let me know in a review/PM!


	11. The Lies We Tell

A/N: This is a continuation of the previous chapter _Doctor's Visit_. This chapter is a lot darker than all the other chapters so far. Warnings for explicit self-harm.

* * *

"You can save them," Sam willed his voice to be steady despite the distant throbbing in his skull and the weakness of his limbs. "They don't have to die."

"I know," Dean ran an trembling hand over his face. His scars looked especially swollen and red under the harsh light in the infirmary. "But Sammy, I _can't_ …" his eyes bored into Sam's soul. He knew how much effort it took his brother to keep the Darkness locked away. Every day he fought so he did not have to fight. Every day he resisted made it that much harder to push back the next day, but he kept doing it anyway.

"You can," Sam hated himself for saying it, but there were hundreds of helpless colonists on the planet below. What was the cost of his sanity and his brother's soul compared to that? "You can control it, Dean. I saw it." Sam had seen the exact opposite, but his brother didn't need to hear that right now. Even if Sam told him the truth, Dean would still go, because that's who Dean _was._

"Yeah?" The hope in his brother's face was almost Sam's undoing. But he held firm, because this was the only comfort he could give his brother now.

"Yeah," he lied again, the syllable bitter on his tongue. "You ganked those _wong ba duhn_ and then you came back, Dean. _You come back_."

"Gotta keep my pain-in-the- _pi-gu_ little brother out of trouble, now don't I?" Dean tried to tease with a smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes.

"You wish," Sam feebly tried to elbow his brother. He would have missed-the medication that was keeping his brain from exploding had the crappy side effect of playing merry havoc with his muscles-but Dean surreptitiously moved so that the blow connected. "Now stop emoting over me and go out there and save some people and hunt some things. The family business, remember? Jerk."

"That's my line, bitch," Dean shot back. This time his lips didn't move, but Sam could see the smile crinkle in the corners of his eyes.

* * *

"Are you out of your gorram mind?" Mal shouted at him. Dean could feel the crew silently agreeing with the Captain's sentiment.

"You hired me because I can take down a Reaver ship. Now let me do my _gou cao de_ job!" Dean shot back. He could feel the Darkness pulse underneath his scars, making them itch. It wanted out, wanted to taste blood… and he wanted to let it out. He _wanted_ to taste blood. And he would. Soon.

 _Soon_.

"We'll think of a different plan," Mal said authoritatively. "There's got to be another way." Behind him, some lights on the pilot's consol began to flash. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Dean had already programmed the ship so that they couldn't follow. He needed Sam to be safe, and safe is what Sam would be. Dean was no genius, but he was smart enough to rig _Serenity_ in such a way that even all the geniuses on board working together couldn't override his passcodes until it was too late.

"Fine," Dean threw up his hands in mock surrender. "You do what you want. I'll be in my bunk." It wasn't exactly a lie, but close enough. Compared to what he was about to do, it was hardly even a sin. No one followed as he stomped out of the cockpit and towards his _Baby_.

"You come back," Sam leaned heavily against the sleek black door and smiled through watery eyes. "It's not easy, but you come back."

"Of course, Sammy," Dean bundled him into a hug. "I always come back for you." This wasn't goodbye: Sam had just said so himself. Dean wouldn't be going if Sam hadn't promised he'd come back. But the kid was looking a little shaky from all the excitement and Dean figured a little physical reassurance couldn't hurt anything.

Sam closed the door behind him with a familiar _squeek-slam_ of metal. Moments later, _Baby'_ s radio crackled to life as a furious Mal screamed obscenities at him for locking down _Serenity_. Dean muted the speakers before undocking and turning his prow towards the planet. For a few moments, he let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of piloting his favorite ship.

Then he spotted the smoke.

The Reaver ships were hovering over the town, their ragged outlines masked by dust and fumes. It took a lot of fuel to hold a big ship in one place like that, but when you didn't care about running on unshielded nuclear you certainly weren't concerned with fuel efficiency. There was an occasional flash as a particularly idiotic bastard tried to take a shot at the hulking craft. Dean almost laughed. You couldn't _shoot_ a Reaver ship down with anything smaller than an anti-asteroid cannon. They'd keep flying with half a ship and a third of their own body missing. Trying to kill them that way only drew their attention and wasted ammo.

No. The only thing that could consistently kill a Reaver was another Reaver.

It was time. Dean punched in a last few commands into the ship computer before going to his bunk. There was a box stashed in a hidden compartment underneath. Dean opened it with reluctant anticipation. The Darkness in his veins throbbed demandingly as he stared at the sharp slivers of metal. It wanted to be set free. Dean wanted to set it free. He pulled out the first knife and lovingly traced the right angle of the puckered scar on his right forearm. The blood burst out like it had been pressurized, and it felt like _release_. After so long resisting, it was such a relief to finally relinquish control. The thin blade slid into it's old place through his arm with delicious pleasure.

Once he started, he couldn't seem to stop. Didn't want to stop. How had he held off from doing this for so long? Why had he even _wanted_ to?

With every slice and stab, he revealed more and more of his true self from beneath his fleshy prison. It was punishment and reward for everything he'd done in Hell, and it felt like heaven. The Darkness sang around him, and everything smelled like blood.


	12. Under the Waves

A/N: Continuation of _The Lies We Tell,_ but this chapter isn't nearly so dark. I think I'm going to run with this arc for a while... it certainly seems like there's a lot of interest in it. Warnings for cannon-level references trauma.

* * *

River descends into the belly of the whale. The rusty ribs arch around them, holding them safe within her belly like Charlie in Zoë. All is silent except the steady rumbling of _Serenity'_ s heart and River's quiet breathing. Above, the voices are too many and too loud. Anger clashed with fear like towering waves against stone. Below, the waters are calm and still. Or they usually are. Today, they swirl with the turbulent eddies left by a soul in torment. River lets herself be pulled along by the current of screaming until she splashes against the source.

Sam is tucked in an improbably small corner like a little clam startled by her touch. There are tears on his face, and they taste like purity and protection when she kisses them.

"What have I done?" he whispers. In her mind, she can see his soul thrashing on a rack of his own design, slowly but surely torn apart piece by bloody piece.

"The Darkness could not remain chained forever," River reminds her foolish lover. She reminds herself that Sam cannot see the streaks of black that twist through Dean's scars like abandoned fishing nets. They had been growing ever thicker of late, strangling out the good she knows lies deep within like a pearl.

"I can't…" Sam groans as another piece of his soul is torn away. " _Wo de tian ah._ "

"I will be your stone number two until your anchor returns," River offers. She worms her way under his arms and onto his lap. The warm scent of flannel and pine washes over her and fills her lungs. Sam tucks his chin and presses his lips against her hair. She can feel him trembling like a taut line from the strain of staying _here_ and _now_.

"Ride the waves, my love. You cannot escape this River."

He lets go, and the memories come crashing through the flimsy Wall in his mind like a busted dam and swamp them both.

* * *

"Get him to shut up, Doc, or I'm going to!"

"Sam, I do wish you would hold still. There's no need to struggle: it's only a little needle. You'll hardly even feel it going into your brain."

"You shoot me, son. You shoot me in the heart."

" _Can't, I can't, please Dean…"_

"Kaylee? How goes the mechanical override?"

"...Marcus Colony, this is Mayor Stevens… Are you receiving Mal? _Xie xie Yeh Su._ It's about time you arrived… but I thought you were flying a Firefly, not an Impala? Doesn't matter, I've got a town full of panicking people and those gorram Reavers hovering over our heads like the Grim Reaper's scythe."

"If you can't save your brother, you're going to have to kill him."

" _What have I done? Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing, please…"_

"River, help Sam or help break the _gou cao de_ lock on my ship. Don't just stand there like a gorram post."

"Why does Dean have so many boo-boos? Jayne says he was eaten by monsters, but I think he's telling bad stories again."

"Stop scrubbing your hands, ya ijit. You're gonna rub off all your skin and waste all my nice new soap if you keep that up."

" _There's so much blood, Dean, why is there so much blood on my hands?"_

"Stephens, this is Mal. The guy in the Impala is a _buhn dahn_ who thinks he can take a Reaver ship down solo. Forget about him. You focus on getting as many people as you can inside and keep them quiet. We're on our way."

"Captain, I don't think we should open the door. Not until he stops screaming like that, at least."

"Why can't you just follow orders like your brother? Why must you _always_ make it so _difficult_? All you do is get other people hurt."

 _"Hang in there, Dean. I'm gonna fix this. There's gotta be a way."_

"Let me get this straight, Zoe. We can go anywhere but where we actually want to go, because that _feh feh pi goh_ wrote some program to keep us from landing on Marcus."

"It's ok, sweetie, I got you. It's going to be ok, I promise. Let's just go to my shuttle and we can lay down and take a nap, ok? I'll light that incense you got me last week and put on that music you like so much."

"Family don't end in blood, boy. You're always welcome here."

" _I tried to save them. I did. I tried so hard, but I only made things worse. And now…"_

" _Bu kuh nuhn._ Stevens says one of the Reaver ships just crashed outside of town in a great big ball of fire."

"I got this, Cap'n. Vera will take care of anything that comes through that door. If you weren't so gorram picky about said door, she could take care of whatever's behind it too."

"You just stay in here and keep patching up _Baby_. I'm pretty sure this is a trap: what kind of Operative has a name like 'Castiel' anyway?"

" _Dean, please. You promised. You promised you'd come back."_


	13. Instinct

A/N: Sorry if the last chapter was a bit confusing. Sam's head is a mess, and I wanted you the reader to be just as disoriented as he is right now. This chapter is a continuation of the current arc.

Thanks for all of the feedback, especially the critical feedback! And thank you Guest for reviewing, but I'd love it if you could sign in so I could respond personally.

Warnings for gore and violence.

* * *

Things are simple, now.

 _Kill_.

That's it. No terms and conditions, no limitations, no restraints. Not even the caveat that he not die. Just _kill_.

The blood is hot on his hands and sweet in his mouth. The screams are music to his ears as the Darkness thrums blissfully under his skin. The blade in his hand feels like an extension of his will. He revels in the poetry of its motion through flesh. Occasionally it catches on metal or leather, but it is only a momentary delay in the inevitable. He is Death, and he cannot be stopped.

There is dust sticking to the blood on his clothes, but he doesn't remember where it came from. There are ship controls under his hands, but he doesn't know where he's going. He moves on instinct alone, and he revels in the freedom of unconscious thought. There's no past, no future, only _now_ , the instant where life and death hang in the balance.

The only thing marring his perfect euphoria is the tiny niggling feeling in the back of his skull that he's forgetting something. Something _vital_ , something as much as a part of him as the knife in his hand or the Darkness pumping through his veins, but more important. He does not linger on the thought, because it makes his stomach clench with a nervous nausea that tastes a little too much like _fear_. But that makes no sense, because _he_ is the thing that the twisted monsters of the Black run from in terror.

With good reason, too. The flames of the ruined ships warm his skin as he easily picks off the survivors escaping the smoldering wreckage. There are burns on his skin, but there is no pain, only pleasure. Why and how the ships met their end is of no consequence. Death and destruction surround him, and that is all that matters. The smell of burnt flesh and twisted metal makes him smile. He pulls his blade from his latest target and looks for another, but all of the more challenging quarry already lie broken at his feet. The Darkness within urges him to bathe in the blood of less capable victims.

His new, more vulnerable prey run from him with ever greater alacrity, but he can see in their eyes that they know it is futile. An especially brave one points her gun at him and fires. He barely feels the bullet as it tears through his side. He is Death, after all, and he cannot be stopped.

"Sammy!"

A shaggy-haired boy stands in front of him, close enough that the blood dripping from his knife falls on his upturned cheek. The woman with the gun dashes forward and gathers the boy into her arms. He stares at him with wide brown eyes over her shoulder as she flees.

 _The bundle is heavy in his lap. He pulls aside the soft blanket and is met with two big brown eyes and a toothless smile. He thought love at first sight was a fairytale for girls, but his chest is filled to bursting with an emotion he can't express any other way._

An explosion catches him off-balance, and he tumbles to the ground. Some of the knives piercing his face and arms tear free. He stares at his reflection in the bits of blood-spattered metal and chokes back revulsion.

" _Hold still, I've gotcha," he lays a steadying hand on the thigh above a bloodied knee as he washes the wound with alcohol. "I know it stings, but I gotta do it. Almost done." A soft whimper of pain makes his throat go tight with sympathy. "It's gonna be ok, promise," he swears, placing a bandage over the scrape. "See? All better."_

There's smoke in his lungs, and coughing triggers an explosion of pain from his ribs. He curls up around the agony, and tries to remember how to breathe. He needs to get away, get somewhere safe. On instinct, he starts crawling towards the glossy black ship he can just barely glimpse through the chaos.

" _Hold her like this," he places small hands on the worn controls. "Up, down, left, right," he covers the fragile fingers with his own and turns the wheel in the correct motions as he speaks. "There's more controls for your feet, but you're gonna hafta eat more protein if you're to ever grow long enough legs to reach them." There's a laugh, high and sweet, and the sound brings a smile to his lips._

The door closes automatically behind him with a _squeak-slam_ that shakes him to his core. Home. He doesn't remember much beyond pain and blood and a boy with shaggy hair, not even his own name, but he knows in his bones that this is _home_.

There's already a course laid in, and he's too tired to change it. He doesn't care where he goes, as long as it is _away_ from here. He presses a button ringed in green and the ship quivers to life around him. The rumbling engine is better than a lullaby, and within moments he succumbs to oblivion.


	14. Decisions

A/N: Still continuing the Reaver arc. Shoutout to waitingforAslan for their epic reviews. Warnings for discussion of euthanasia.

* * *

Four hours after Sam's vision, Mal spotted the Impala on the radar. He frowned as it approached. The typically pristine finish was stained with soot and dented with bullet holes. No one was visible in the pilot's seat, and the ship docked completely on autopilot. Mal gathered Jayne and Simon and went to greet Dean. He banged on the door, but it didn't open. He would have peered through the window, but it was smeared with blood from the inside. Mal banged again, and was replied with a scream.

Not one of pain or fear. Anger. _Wrath_.

They all just stared in shock for a moment. Jayne bolted down the hall. Mal would have chastised him for cowardice, but the mercenary returned moments later with a ridiculously tricked-out gun.

" _Da shiong la se la ch'wohn tian_ ," Mal swore vehemently. Stevens had been right. He'd said that a Reaver had stepped out of the Impala and had slaughtered the other Reavers, but Mal hadn't believed him. "Dean?" he banged on the door again, hoping against hope. Something large slammed against the door, and a bloodied face, pierced with metal, pressed against the windowpane.

Mal heard Simon gag behind him. The thing-that-had-once-been-Dean snarled and scrabbled at the door. It seemed to enjoy making them flinch.

"Why don't it just come out?" Jayne nervously adjusted his grip on his weapon. "Why's it just starin' at us?"

"Because he can't," Mal pointed to a box welded onto the door. It was clearly a recent addition. "Looks like Dean locked himself in from the outside. That could have been installed and programmed before he left to lock when he redocked. Maybe Sam has the passcode. If it's anything like the locks on _Serenity_ , there's no way we'll be able to hack it."

"I need to get in there and treat him," Simon spoke up. "Dean's at a severe risk of blood loss, shock, infection… The sooner I can get to him the better."

"He's a Reaver, son," Mal said compassionately. "There ain't nothin' you can do now."

The Reaver snarled and screamed. Something crashed within the Impala.

"You can't know that," Simon said belligerently. "Just let me go in, tranquilize him, and examine him."

"No," Mal ordered. Not that anyone on _his_ gorram ship ever obeyed _his_ orders. "This is what we're gonna do. We're gonna get Kaylee to remove the lock by any means necessary, and then Jayne's gonna take care of what's inside."

"I got this, Cap'n. Vera will take care of anything that comes through that door. If you weren't so gorram picky about said door, she could take care of whatever's behind it too."

Mal briefly considered just letting Jayne shoot the thing through the door, but then decided against it. It just didn't sit right with him to kill anything, even a Reaver, without at least giving fair notice. Besides, it would be costly to repair the antique Impala, and they were a little strapped for cash right now.

Simon stared at them with incredulity. "We are going to do no such thing! That is _Dean_ in there, not some rabid dog! You can't just _shoot_ him! He's saved all our lives more than once in the last few months. And what about Sam? You aren't even going to _consult_ him?"

"This is _exactly_ like dealing with a rabid dog," Mal snapped back. "Look, it's a mighty shame, don't get me wrong. I _like_ Dean. But that _thing_ in there ain't him. Not anymore. There's no fixin' that, so the best we can do is give him a merciful death. As for Sam, I think it would be best if he thought his brother died on the planet. Better than knowin' what he became."

Something else crashed within the Impala, and the scream that followed raised goosebumps on everyone's skin.

"You will do no such thing."

The three men turned towards Inara. Her soft shoes had made no sound on the metal walkway, so her approach had been a complete surprise.

"You can't be here," Mal positioned himself between her and the dirty Impala door. "It's not safe."

" _Ni ta ma de, luh suh,_ " Inara spat. Everyone's eyes raised at the uncharacteristic curse. "We've been living with him for months. _Months_ , Mal! And he's not laid a hand on any of us."

"Hey now!" Jayne interjected. "What about that time when he…"

"You had that comin' and then some," Mal cut him off. "Your point, Inara?"

"Where did you _think_ Dean's scars came from?" Inara raised an eyebrow that made it clear she thought them all idiots.

Shocked silence was her only reply.

"I just finished getting Sam to sleep," she smoothed her skirt tiredly. "He wasn't exactly coherent, but it was clear to me that this isn't the first or even the second time Dean's… been this way," she said tactfully. "He just needs some time to convalesce."

"He's a _Reaver_ , Inara," Mal snapped. More screeching and slamming came from the cruiser, corroborating his point. "I can't have something like that on my ship!"

"Then don't," Simon said slowly. "Dean's got his own ship. He spends most of his time there anyway. There's no reason why he couldn't stay there until he's recovered."

"I don't want no Reaver anywhere near this boat," Jayne spoke up. "I dunno 'bout you, but I won't sleep right knowing there's a freak like that just down the hall from my bunk."

"Besides," Mal shook his head, "Zoë is due any day now. You want a Reaver anywhere near a _baby_? No," Mal put his foot down literally and figuratively. "You _might,_ and that's a mighty big _might_ , be able to convince me to let him live, but there's no gorram way he can stay here."

"Malcolm Reynolds." Inara stepped close into his personal space. It wasn't sexy: it was terrifying. "You are an idiot."

"Hey now!" he protested. "I'm just trying to keep my crew in one piece!"

"What _exactly_ do you think will happen if you toss Dean into his Impala and abandon him in the Black?" she tilted her head challengingly. "Sam will go with his brother, for sure. And River will follow Sam."

"And I will follow River," Simon continued her train of thought. "And I bet Kaylee will follow me."

"That leaves what… you, Jayne, Zoë, and myself. That's still a crew," Mal reasoned.

"What makes you think I'll stay?" Inara snarled.

"Enough." A voice spoke from further down the hall. The slow but steady click of leather boots on the deck was loud in the resulting silence. "Don't look so surprised," Zoë shrugged as she came forward. "You were arguing loud enough to wake the dead."

"Zoë…" Mal started.

She peered through the bloody window for a moment. "He don't look to good. Doc, you can fix that?"

"If the Captain would let us open the door, I might," Simon said snidely.

"The _Captain_ said _no_ ," Mal repeated more forcefully. Why was that so hard to get through their gorram heads?

"Inara, could you fetch Kaylee?" Zoë asked serenely, as if she wasn't directly in opposition to his clearly stated orders. "Tell her to bring her tools." The companion left in a flurry of silk.

"Zoë," Mal took her arm and led her a little way from the others. Jayne continued to cover the door with his weapon, while Simon headed towards the infirmary.

"Yes sir?" she placed her hands demurely on her incredibly rounded belly. She would have looked harmless if it weren't for all the weapons she was carrying and the defiant fire in her eyes.

"We can't have _that_ on the ship," Mal repeated himself, his voice pleading this time. "Especially not… I gotta take care of you, Zoë. I gotta take care of the kid too. I can't do that while he's here."

"I don't need protectin'," she practically growled. Mal had to swallow back the sudden urge to back down.

"Wash…" He tried to say, but Zoë cut him off before the syllable fell from his lips.

"Isn't here, and you ain't my husband and you sure ain't my baby's daddy," she lashed out. "I decide what's safe and not safe for me and mine. Not you."

"But…"

"Dean stays." She snapped. "He's a good man, and he'll set himself to rights soon enough. We don't abandon our own, or have you forgotten? You got a problem with that, you'll need to find a new first mate. "


	15. Outsiders

A/N: Still on the Reavers arc. Not really any warnings. As far as Cas and timelines... 'Milk Run' and 'Lonely Sock in a 'Verse of Pairs' happen after this. Thanks for all of your kind reviews!

* * *

Simon emptied yet another syringe into Dean's line, and frowned. He'd already administered enough sedative to knock out an elephant, but Dean just wouldn't stay down. They were toeing the line of an overdose, but there really weren't any other options. Simon knew Dean was more than capable of snapping the restraints when he was normal, much less like this, and he only trusted Sam's intervention so much.

Sam was currently curled into an impossibly small ball on the side bench. He hadn't left Dean's side since they'd moved him into the infirmary.

"He doesn't like hospitals," Sam muttered. "Never liked hospitals. Especially later...no. _Now_." Shaggy hair swayed as he shook his head. "Let me take him home. Please."

Simon put in yet another stitch. He'd not even bothered to start counting. Dean's face looked like a particularly macabre homemade quilt. His arms and chest were swathed in white bandages. They would have to get more supplies soon: Simon's medical stash was almost completely depleted.

"After I finish stitching and dressing all of these wounds," Simon repeated for the umpteenth time. "And after this antibiotic IV is finished. He might need another blood transfusion as well." He tried not to sound as impatient as he felt. They had spent hours and hours in the infirmary already. Simon had treated hovercraft wreck victims with fewer injuries. How Dean was still breathing was honestly a mystery to him.

Abruptly, Sam leapt to his feet.

"Cas! It's so good to see you again!" he hugged empty air. "Dean…" Sam's face crumpled for a moment before brightening. "He'll be better now that you're here. I'll take you to him." Sam walked straight into the cabinets and crashed to the ground in a jumble of gangly limbs. Simon had his hands full of sutures so he couldn't go help.

" _Go shi_ " Sam swore. "Not real. Should have known. Real Cas never ties his tie correctly. _Buhn dahn_."

"Who is Cas?" Simon asked. The name had been mentioned a few times in conversation, but he'd never been able to get a straight answer from Dean as to who he was or how they knew him.

"Cas is… _was_ Castiel." Sam started straightening the shelves he had disturbed. "He likes to say he 'gripped Dean tight and raised him from Perdition'. He always talks weird like that."

Simon smeared antiseptic over the neat row of stitches over Dean's eyebrow. He was tempted to just give Dean a bath in the stuff, just on general principle. If only it came in buckets… on this ship he certainly could use it in those sorts of quantities.

"Perdition," Simon drew out the word, almost tasting it. It was archaic, and rarely used. "That means 'damnation', correct? So Cas saved Dean from what he calls 'Hell'?"

"Bobby, he's _dead_ , they're all _dead,_ " Sam was staring off into space again. Tears streaked down his cheeks unchecked. Simon sighed in pity. He'd been doing so well managing the hallucinations before all of this. Now… the doctor shook his head. One patient at a time.

" _Angels we have heard on high_ ," River sang, her voice audible despite the locked door separating them. Sam walked to the window as if in a trance. River pressed her fingers against the glass, and Sam mirrored the action.

"Anchor in the storm," Sam said quietly, and River smiled. Simon couldn't help but mirror the motion. He hadn't been sure about his sibling's relationship with Sam at first, but they were undeniably good for each other. Their love was so obvious, so intimate... He always felt like such an intruder when he watched them interact.

"Your prayers will be answered," River said in her cryptic way. "His wings are broken by betrayal, but he heard you, and he is coming."

None of that made any sense to Simon: they weren't religious by any stretch. But River's words, as always, seemed to be perfectly comprehensible to Sam.

"How do you know?" Sam asked.

"I heard it on the radio," River tilted her head. "All whistles and static, but the meaning is clear to those who can listen."

"If you were… _are_ close enough to hear him then maybe… You talked… _will talk_ with Mal?" Sam stumbled through the correct tenses.

"Search the skies for the lost member of our flock." River nodded. "Weary birds need a place to roost."

"Exactly," Sam affirmed. River danced away again, and he followed her progress until she was out of sight. Then Sam returned to his little miserable ball on the bench. Simon sighed, and resigned himself to not learning anything more about this mysterious Cas.

* * *

"I don't like him," Zoë said firmly. The Captain just looked at her. She shrugged. "Somethin' about him. I just don't _like_ him." And she didn't. Maybe it was the out-of-style suit or the ill-fitting tan trenchcoat. Maybe it was the way he stood unnaturally still or the way he tilted his head. Maybe it was his eyes that stared straight through you and yet held galaxies inside. Whatever it was, this 'Castiel' fellow set off every single one of her instincts. Whoever he was, he was more than he appeared, and he couldn't be trusted.

"You are correct," Castiel said in that gravelly voice. "I am not someone you wish to trifle with. Where is Dean Winchester?"

Zoë started. Either he was really good at reading people (and she made it a point not to be easy to read) or he was psychic. Like they needed any more crazy on the _Serenity_.

"Infirmary," the Captain supplied, crossing his arms. "But until I get a straight answer as to how you know him or why you're here, you ain't goin' no further on my ship, _dong ma_?"

"Yes, I… _dong ma_ ," Castiel said as if he was unfamiliar with the phrase. "I am a friend." He said it as if that explained everything, and stepped forward as if that was the end of the discussion. Whoever this Castiel person was, social skills were not one his strengths.

The Captain pulled out his gun and pointed it at the stranger's face. Castiel seemed strangely unperturbed by this development, and merely observed the firearm intently, as if it were a fascinating insect.

"Answer my questions," the Captain repeated.

Zoë put her hands protectively over her belly. "Captain," she said, low and warning. She had no desire to start a fight, even if it appeared that Castiel was unarmed.

"I am not here to harm you," Castiel said slowly. "Or your crew. I'm here to help Dean. And Sam."

"Mal, stop being an ass to our guest," Inara called from the walkway. They all turned to look.

"But…" the Captain started, his firearm falling to his side.

"But nothing," Inara floated down the steps in her usual fashion. "Cas, what a delightful surprise."

"You _know_ each other?" the Captain gaped. Zoë was equally surprised, but knew better than to show it.

"Dean coerced me into visiting a den of iniquity," the trenchcoat twitched nervously. "He engaged a Companion for me, but…" Cas shrugged hopelessly.

'Den of iniquity'? Zoë raised an eyebrow. Who _was_ this guy, and where had he learned to talk? The Earth-that-Was? Zoë had never heard the like.

"Cas, the foolish dear, told her her life story. Poor Clarissa had never been the best at emotional control, and threw such a fit! We thought she was being murdered and called security." Inara smiled in that simpering way that always gave the Captain fits. "I helped question him afterwards. Cas is… well, _Cas_. But he's well-meaning and honest," Inara cupped his cheek fondly. He sputtered and pulled away like a skittery teen around their crush. "I never knew it was Dean who had brought you in though."

"I had a dangerous mission the next day," Cas fiddled with his trenchcoat. "Dean said I would not die a virgin on his watch."

"That certainly sounds like something he would say," Zoë gave the Captain a look. He threw his hands in the air in defeat.

" _Fine_ , I'll show you…"

"I know the way," Castiel was somehow already halfway down the appropriate hall like he owned the place.

Well. It looked like bedraggled and crazy was here to stay. But that didn't mean Zoë had to like it.


	16. Missing Parts

A/N: Continuing the Reaver (Deaver? I need a better name...) arc. No particular warnings for this chapter, beyond the usual swearing in Firefly-Chinese. Thanks for reading/reviewing!

* * *

" _Qing wa cao de liu mang_ ," Kaylee swore vehemently. It was a curse she'd learned from Dean. She missed her friend, but no one but Sam and Castiel were allowed in the Impala nowadays to visit him. The mechanic banged her wrench on the floor in frustration before clambering out from underneath her engine. The Cap'n wasn't gonna like this.

He didn't.

"Whadda you mean, we gotta problem? We were flyin' fine before!"

"Yes, and that was before you had me tear apart half the ship tryin' to fix Dean's lockout," she tried to reason with the irate man.

"So put her back together!"

"I _can_ ," she stressed patiently, "but I need parts. And _no_ , I can't just rig sommat up, _dong ma_?" The Cap'n didn't look happy that she'd cut off his next question. "What I need shouldn't be that hard to find planetside. We just need to find someone willing to fly it up to us," she tried to pacify him.

"Kaylee," Mal pinched the bridge of his nose. "Delivery costs credits, credits we can't afford because the last job went _tian fan di fu_ and half our crew is too busy tryin' to fix the mess the other half made to plan a new job."

"What is it that which you require?" Castiel appeared in the doorway. He was worse than River for showing up silently when you least expected it. "My ship is not in ideal condition, but it might have the requisite mechanics."

The Cap'n stared blankly at the trenchcoat-wearing man for a moment before shaking himself. "What he said," he jerked his thumb towards Castiel. "Don'cha know plain Standard?" he complained.

"I am fluent in over fifteen different languages, but I do not understand the motivation behind your question," Castiel deadpanned.

"Leave 'im alone, Cap'n," Kaylee took Castiel's arm and started steering him towards the hold. "Ain't his fault that he has an overabundance of schoolin'."

Castiel stared at her with his disturbingly blue eyes for a moment before gently pulling his arm from her grip. She got the sense that he was far stronger than he looked.

"Sorry," Kaylee smiled in apology. "Shouldn'ta busted your personal bubble like that."

Castiel's ship, the _Angel's Wing_ , was just small enough to fit in the hold. Normally, a cruiser of that type wouldn't have fit, but this one was missing some rather vital parts right now. Like most of her steering and propulsion components. Kaylee had been too busy trying to fix _Serenity_ to give the _Angel's Wing_ much attention. There honestly wasn't much for her to fix, more's the pity.

"What happened to her?" she ran her hand down a laser burn on the side. They'd found Castiel drifting in the Black just Coreside of Marcus. There wasn't any indication of Alliance nearby, and the Reavers of course were all dead on the planet. The _Angel's Wing_ was so small that they would have passed right by if River hadn't told them to scan for something. Sam had been overjoyed to see Castiel, but wouldn't say anything intelligible as to how they knew each other. Castiel himself wasn't exactly verbose on the topic either. The Cap'n was less than pleased with the situation, but he wasn't about to just leave someone stranded in a broken ship in the middle of nowhere. So here they all were.

"I was betrayed," Castiel looked constipated for a moment before his usual bland expression returned. "After I disobeyed. I have officially fallen from grace, and there is no returning to my brethren now."

There really wasn't anything Kaylee could say to that, so she busied herself with exploring the tiny engine. It was surprisingly powerful for its size. She hadn't seen so many modern Core parts in one place in years.

"It's a real shiny ship," she complimented as she tried a few knobs. Despite the quality of the components, the engine was badly worn. Castiel had been pushing the _Angel's Wing_ hard, and for a long time too, from the looks of it.

"I have not appreciated what I had as I should," Castiel sighed quietly, "and now this privilege is gone, along with many others. It will be more difficult now."

"More difficult to do what?" Kaylee wiped some excess grease from a pressure valve.

"More difficult to fulfill my duties, such as they are," Castiel settled his coat. It wasn't cold in _Serenity_ , but Kaylee had never seen him remove it. "Have you found what you need?"

"No," she sighed. "Your ship's a real beauty, but that's the problem. Since the engine is so new, it don't have the part I need. _Serenity_ 's an old gal. Reliable, but old."

"I am sorry that I could not be of more service," Castiel looked away. He almost looked ashamed.

"Don't be," Kaylee smiled. "It's a real treat to get a look at what makes the _Angel's Wing_ tick. It's fresh from the Core, _shi_?"

"It is an experimental craft," he pursed his lips. "I am afraid I cannot tell you more than that."

"Oh," Kaylee deflated slightly. "Government secrets 'n all that?"

"No," Castiel said flusteredly. "That is not the issue. I have already Fallen, so I retain no loyalty to the Host. I mean… I am not a mechanic."

She burst out laughing after a startled moment. The thought that she might know more about the _Angel's Wing_ after five minutes under her hood than this fancy-pants super-secret agent after months of flying was just too funny.

"You are an odd one, Kaywinnet Lee Frye," Castiel tilted his head, his blue eyes catching the light in such a way that they seemed to glow white. "It is rare to see a soul so bright in this dark world."

"I'm just Kaylee," she smiled at the compliment. "How'd you know my full name anyway?"

But Castiel was already walking away, his trenchcoat rustling in a nonexistent breeze.

* * *

Mal had many problems. Too many. More than usual. He had a ship that needed parts, a crew that was half-nuts (legitimately, not just the usual strangeness that was the norm out on the Rim), and a pregnant first officer that was due to pop any day now. And, oh yeah, they were broke. Again.

 _Wo de tian a_ , he needed a vacation. When's the last time he'd had a legitimate vacation? Too _gia si_ long.

"You should pay homage to the shining vocalist in his labyrinth of abandoned memories," River spoke up from the pilot's seat. Since Dean was… gone, she'd returned to her old job at the helm.

"I need to do what to the who?" Mal resisted the urge to massage his forehead. Trying to decipher River always gave him a headache, and he already had one from everything else.

"The surly drunk," River looked at him reproachfully. She somehow managed to make him feel like _he_ was the stupid one. "His door is always open to Sam-like-the-gun and his brother and their angel."

River seemed to have gone religious with the appearance of Castiel. Mal didn't question it, because it wouldn't change River and it wouldn't make anything she said make any more sense.

There was a burst of static from the internal comm.

"Yes?" he snapped.

"Cap'n?" Kaylee answered. "Castiel says he wants to be dropped off at someplace called 'Singer Salvage'. He says it ain't too far."

"That's what I said," River said petulantly.

"You know where it is?" he asked the Reader.

In response, she rolled her eyes and started plugging in coordinates.

"Tell Castiel we're on our way."


	17. Grip

A/N: Long chapter for your patience... As always, a huge thanks to everyone who reviews! Warnings for self-harm, language, and flashbacks to verbal abuse.

* * *

Sam opens the door slowly, painfully aware of Jayne and Vera at his back. He can't immediately see Dean, but that doesn't mean much: there are plenty of small corners in the Impala. Ducking to avoid the low doorframe, he reminds himself that, despite who he sees sitting at the helm, his father is _dead_. He _knows_ this.

River slips underneath his arm before he can close the door. He doesn't exactly want her here, but at the same time her presence is infinitely comforting. Besides, she can totally handle one weakened Reaver.

"Dean?" he calls for his brother. Some small noises from the engine room are his only response. That's a good sign. The first thing to return is always Dean's protective streak towards Sam, but the second is always his love for _Baby_.

"Careful not to startle the birds," River whispers, her feet silent beside him. Sam nods his understanding and changes his stride so that his approach past the kitchen and bathroom is obvious, but not too loud. River reads minds, and having a warning as to what is currently going on in Dean's head is invaluable. Usually, Sam has to go in blind and hope for the best.

"Sammy, make some breakfast, we're landing in an hour!" Dad calls from the front. Sam shakes his head and ignores the order, despite it going against years of deeply-ingrained conditioning. Dad is _dead_. He _knows_ this.

The door to the engine room opens with a familiar squeak-squeal, revealing Dean wedged into the back left corner of the small space. Engine grease and blood are smeared across his face and arms. The bandages that once protected his still-healing wounds lie in dirty shreds around his feet. Sam curls his lips in distaste: Simon had… no… will have a fit about that. Dean doesn't seem to mind though, his face expressionless as he stares blankly at the engine in front of him.

River stays by the door while Sam approaches. He knows from experience that getting between Dean and the exit is a bad idea, but there's really no other choice in this cramped space.

"Good morning, Dean," Sam says quietly. His brother turns his head in response, but doesn't reply. The largest mark on his right arm seeps blood and pus. Dean picks at it absentmindedly, heedless of the damage he is causing to the already infected gash.

"Dude," Sam shakes his head and holds out his hand. Dean stares at it distrustfully. "Come on, man, it's just me. Just your Sammy," he cajoles. "Let me see your arm, please."

Dean narrows his eyes and curls the self-injured limb closer to himself. His lips curl back in a wordless snarl. Sam quickly throws up his hands in the universal motion of surrender.

That was a mistake.

Apparently the quick motion was enough to 'startle the birds', because before Sam can blink he's flat on his back on the floor and Dean is charging out of the engine room. Moments later, the unmistakable sounds of a fistfight eminate from the front of the ship. Sam struggles to his feet and dashes forward, only to be stopped by his father at the door. There's a red memory stick in his palm, with the words _Stanford Project_ written in black marker in Sam's hand.

"It's just research, Dad, just some research, I thought…"

"You never _think_!" the older man roars. "Hacking the Core database is one thing, but actually _reading_ their propaganda? They _murdered_ your mother, boy, and you want to just march in and volunteer to be their bitch?"

"It's not like that, Dad, I just…"

"That's 'sir' to you, you ungrateful little traitor."

Sam's fists clench at the unfairness of it all. He just wanted to _learn_ , to experience some of the rich knowledge the Core had to offer. Was improving his mind such a bad thing? He isn't joining the Alliance; he just stole some of their books. What was so bad about reading a few stories about the Earth-That-Was?

The floor underneath his feet vibrates with a large _thump,_ and by the time Sam looks up Dad is gone.

Hallucination. Of course. Dad is dead. Sam _knows_ this. After all, he's the one that killed him.

Sam leaves the engine room, feeling like he's missing something important but unclear as to what that is exactly. He stops short just as he enters the main room.

River is on Dean's back, his head in a firm chokehold. The larger man struggles to get his arms high enough to dislodge her, fails, and starts slamming her against every surface he can find. Sam can hear Jayne yelling outside, but he knows that the mercenary won't interfere: he's too afraid of Dean. River grunts in pain, but does not relinquish her grip. Dean turns red, then purple, as he starts to run out of oxygen. Sam can only watch helplessly as his brother's struggles weaken and cease as he crumples to the floor.

"Quit your horsing around, boys!" Dad calls from the pilot's seat. Sam bites back a retort. Dad is dead. Sam _knows_ this.

"Are you alright?" he helps River disengage herself from Dean's unconscious form.

"Growing a garden of purple and blue flowers on my back," she rolls her shoulders slowly. Sam winces in sympathy.

"You don't have to stay."

"Where else would I be?" she pecks a kiss on his cheek before skipping over to the drawer with the first aid kit. Sam quickly redresses Dean's arms while he's still out of it. His brother will doubtless rip the bandages off again, but it's better than nothing. At the very least, destroying the dressings will keep him from tearing into his arms for a few more minutes.

"Sammy?" Dean groans as he blinks awake. River gracefully settles into the copilot's seat, ready to interfere if the Reaver makes another appearance.

"Yeah, Dean, that's me," Sam chokes on his smile. The slashes covering his brother's face make it hard to read his expression, but his eyes clearly show love and fear and regret.

"I can't stop," Dean shudders, and Sam pulls him into a seated hug. "I _can't_."

"It's okay," Sam bites his lip at the lie. He's so tired of lying to his brother, but he can't seem to stop, anymore than Dean can stop his rust-stained fingers from picking at his stitches. "Everything is going to be okay, I promise."

"They made me into something I don't want to be," Dean whispers into Sam's hair, and suddenly Sam can feel blood under his hand, pouring out of Dean's chest, and his throat goes tight and he can't breathe because Dean is…

"The past is past," River calls from where she's perched. "The anchor holds firm despite the current."

Sam chokes down his panic and looks at Dean's shirt. No wound. No spreading circle of blood. Not now, at least. He sucks in a relieved breath.

"You gotta keep fighting man," Sam meets his brother's eye. "I know it's hard, I know it hurts, but you can't give up on me now. I need you."

"Can't…" Dean looks away, ashamed of his weakness.

"I'll be your stone number one, ok? Just hold on to that."

"Sammy, let me go," Dean pleads. He's shaking again, and River is on her feet, clearly readying herself for the imminent arrival of the Reaver. "Please, Sammy."

"Never," Sam swears.

But his promises don't matter. Dean's eyes go black and blank again, and Sam is shoved against the kitchen cabinets with a force that makes him see stars. River dances around Dean, dodging his grip and raining precise blows that make him roar with fury. The fight goes on and on, neither party gaining the advantage for more than a moment. Sam would interfere: his father trained him since birth to be a weapon, after all. His body still knows the right motions, but Sam honestly can't tell which of the three pairs of combatants are Real and Now. He can't risk choosing the wrong one, so he just stays out of the way and trusts that River will handle it.

Sam barely hears the squeak of the door opening over the sounds of the fight. He feels feathers brush against his cheek for a moment. Castiel. He can't see if his tie is tied correctly from his angle on the floor, so he has no way of knowing if what he's seeing is real.

"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways," River recites over Dean's roars, certifying Cas's presence.

The trenchcoat rustles like wings as Cas walks the few steps across the ship. He grabs Dean in a tight hug from behind, pinning his arms.

"Enough," he orders. Dean growls and continues to struggle. "Dean, _e_ _nough_." His words have no effect. "Sam, River, you may depart. I will keep watch for a few hours. You require rest and refreshment," Castiel recommends even as he struggles to hold Dean. River takes Sam by the elbow and helps him upright.

"The sun always rises," she reminds him as they make their way towards _Serenity_ 's kitchen. "The worlds cannot stop their spinning."

Sam shakes his head. He appreciates her encouragement, but doesn't really believe her. Dean can hardly keep control for barely a minute a few times a day, and it's been over a week already. It's never taken him this long to start pulling himself together, not since the first time.

Lucifer's laugh mingles with Dean's yells and Cas's orders as their voices echo down the hall, and Sam shudders.


	18. Knowing

A/N: No particular warnings beyond bad language in Firefly-Chinese. Technically still part of the Reaver arc time-wise, but Dean doesn't make an appearance. Little different POV this time, let me know what you think!

* * *

Jayne don't know much about most things. That's not any real secret, and he's not ashamed of it or nothin'. His planet didn't hold much with Core-style book learnin'. His ma, bless her, did the best she could with too many mouths to feed and not enough credits to do it with. She didn't have no time to be teachin' or for makin' sure he was teached.

That's shiny though. Jayne knows plenty about people, and weapons, and money, and killin'. He knows what he is, and what he's done, and it ain't nothin' praiseworthy, but he's good at it, and he _is_ proud of that. Fancy folk might sneer down their noses at him, but he's alive and well and that's a lot more than he can say for most, so he thinks he's done alright.

Jayne knows he's not really part of the family of _Serenity_ , not the way the rest of them are. They tolerate him, and he's fine with that. Really. He's just there for the money, what there is of it, and they all know it. No point in pretendin' otherwise. But he's grown accustomed to them, and they've put up with him longer than even his own ma at this point, so that has to count for somethin'.

Jayne knows that the Winchesters are gonna be problematic the instant they step foot on board. He lives and dies by his ability to read people, and so he can tell instantly that Dean is nothing but danger, and Sam is nothing but trouble. The rest of the crew wouldn't listen to reason at first, but time has proven Jayne's instincts right. He didn't suspect Dean was a gorram Reaver, of course. But he knows now, and he ain't gonna let no Reaver kill no one else on _Serenity_. Not on his watch.

So when Zoë stumbles on the stairs just outside the Impala, Jayne's there to catch her because he's been standin' watch for two hours already. The first mate clutches her belly and waves him off. Now Jayne doesn't know much, but he does know some things about babies and how they get into this 'verse.

"We're goin' to the infirmary," he informs her, throwing Vera across his back. She tries to fight him, but she gasps in pain before she can get the words out. The floor between her boots is wet, and she doesn't argue with him after he points that out.

It's late, by ship's reckoning, so Jayne knows that everyone except maybe River is asleep as he settles Zoë on the infirmary chair. The current position looks like murder on her back, what with her massive belly and all, so Jayne fiddles with the controls until she's at a more comfortable angle. She grabs the armrests with a white-knuckled grip as she silently rides through another spasm.

"It's gonna be just fine," Jayne pats her shoulder awkwardly. She looks at him incredulously. He tries not to be hurt by that. He's not the best with the touchy-feely stuff, admittedly, but even a _b_ _uhn dahn_ can figure out that it must be hard and lonely to give birth to a kid when the pa is several months dead and buried.

Jayne uses the intercom to get Simon and Mal's attention before returning to Zoë's side. He's probably the last person she wants here right now, but he isn't going to just leave her alone until the others arrive. Not with a Reaver not so very far away and Wash dead and all. Jayne would give his hand for her to crush, but he knows the offer wouldn't be appreciated. Zoë's a warrior woman. There is steel in her spine and fire in her heart, and he's seen her cry exactly once. She don't need no hand-holding, certainly not from him. So he just stands guard as the armrests periodically squeak under the strain and mutters encouragements that are utterly ignored.

Simon arrives first, brushin' past Jayne like he's so much furniture to start rummaging in the drawers along the back wall. Mal is just a few steps behind him, bedraggled and not entirely awake. Janye doubts the Cap'n notices his presence at all as he slips out the door.

He calls up River next, since she's mannin' the Bridge. If Jayne understands her twisted speech right, they're still at least 18 hours away from Singer Salvage, whatever that is, and another 24 hours away from actual civilization. So unless the baby decides to take far longer to arrive than most, Zoë's gonna deliver in the Black. If something goes sideways, they only have what's the ship to fix it. That ain't no different than usual, but somethin' about the whole thing puts Jayne's teeth on edge.

Good thing he prepared.

Now, Jayne don't know much about most things, that was true. He don't know much about pilotin' beyond not crashin' the ship into sommat. He don't know much doctorin' beyond usin' bandages and pressure to keep the blood _inside_ as much as possible. But he _does_ know a thing or two about babies. He had seven younger siblings, after all, all from different fathers that didn't stick 'round. Since Jayne was the oldest, and they hadn't exactly lived in the middle of civilization, he was the one that had helped his ma bring each of those squalling bundles of humanity into the world. They were all grown and gone by now, but that wasn't something you just _forgot_.

Through the glass windows, Jayne sees Mal blatherin' away, pacin' and wavin' his arms and generally making a nuisance of himself. Everyone knows the Cap'n is a well-meaning fella but it is powerful obvious that he hasn't a clue of what to do right now. Jayne rolls his eyes in exasperation and hangs up on River. He walks in, makes up some lie about the ship and imminent explosion, and slams Mal up against the hallway wall as soon as the door closes behind them and they're out of Zoë's line of sight. She don't need to bother herself with this right now.

" _Yi da dwei bun chou roh_ ," Mal swears, but Jayne's got him pinned real good and he's goin' nowhere fast. " _Mei yong ma duh tse gu yong,_ Jayne! Is the crazy catchin' on this ship? Am I not payin' you enough? Put me down, _ma song!_ "

"You need to calm down," Jayne keeps his voice level. Mal snarls and renews his struggles. "Shut up and _listen_ ," Jayne shifts his grip so he has an arm free to pull a knife on Mal's neck. _That_ shuts him up and gets him to pay attention. "I get that you're nervous and worried, but I got news for ya, Cap'n: you don't matter one gorram bit right now. Now Zoë is doin' the most difficult thing a person can do, and you're gonna put your ego aside long enough to help her do it. That means stayin' out of the doc's way and bein' quiet and doing whatever she says, no matter how _mo min chi meow_ it is, _dong ma_?" Mal nods, somewhat abashedly. "Now, up in the kitchen in my cubby there's a red box. There's tea inside. Make her a cup, grab some crackers to go with it, then bring it back and apologize for being a _bei bi shiou ren_ _ **.**_ Or I'll gank you right here for bein' an unsupportive waste of oxygen." Jayne lets Mal go and steps away, knife still at the ready.

"If you weren't probably right I'd keelhaul you for that," Mal grumbles as he stalks towards the kitchen. "I'm still the Captain on this boat, last I checked!"

"Yessir," Jayne rolls his eyes and sheathes his knife. That's one thing taken care of. His ma had sent him the tea herself at his request. It was a family brew for birthing mothers. It was more of a thin broth than a tea, really, it was so full of nutrients. He couldn't say what was all in it, only that it settled the stomach and tasted fine and had gotten Jayne's ma through eight healthy births.

Jayne doesn't know why the infirmary has windows at all. One didn't want to be trapped in a glass cage when one was all weak and hurtin'. Wounds were a personal business, after all. Bad enough for everyone to know how vulnerable you were without puttin' you on a ruttin' stage to gawk at. If Jayne felt unsettled 'bout people watchin' him get a bullet wound stitched, he could only imagine what Zoë, a warrior herself, would feel about havin' her private bits out for all to see. Especially with the center chair set up right in front of the door like that and all.

He don't know much about sewin' or other womenfolk things, but Jayne knows enough to figure out where he can buy some cheap curtains. He'd been planning on puttin' 'em up tomorrow, but there weren't no time like the present. Didn't take too long to get the adjustable rods wedged into the windowframes. He just finishes the last one when Mal returns with a full tea service and an entire box of crackers piled on a tray.

"This ok?" he asks nervously. Jayne lifts the lid and takes a tentative sniff.

"Give it three more minutes to steep, and another three to cool," he instructs. "And fix your shirt and hair, you look like a gorram train wreck," Jayne adds. He's not wrong: Mal's buttons are done up all cockeyed, and his hair looks more like a tumbleweed than actual hair. Mal sets down the tray for a moment to straighten himself up. He looks warily at the door once he's finished.

"Perhaps I should..."

"In ya go," Jayne opens the door and shoves Mal in before he can finish that particular protest. Idiot Mal may be, but he's who Zoë needs most right now, and Jayne is gonna make sure she gets whatever she needs. He don't know much, but he knows that much.


	19. Empty Shelves and Complications

A/N: See "Table for Two" for an explanation for my recent absence. Warnings for blood and surgery in this chapter. I know nothing about childbirth that I didn't learn off the internet, so bear that in mind. Thanks for reading/reviewing!

* * *

For once, just _once_ , Simon would like to have a properly-stocked operating room. A properly sterile, staffed, and equipped one would be nice, of course, but he would settle for fully stocked. One that was actually spacious enough to turn around in without bumping something, or one that wasn't, you know, on a _ship_ so that it bounced and shook and even flipped upside down on occasion. That would be asking for too much at this point. Even _thinking_ about one that didn't get _shot_ at or _exploded_ on occasion was out of the question.

Simon briefly reminisces about the luxuriously large, stable, well-stocked, brand-new, state-of-the art, meticulously-organized, fully-staffed OR where he completed his residency and sighs with something akin to lust. He has been doing his best over the last few years on this accident-prone ship to gather the appropriate tools and drugs he needs, but out on the Rim, with the Core in a perpetually-fluctuating state of rebellion and chaos due to the whole Miranda thing… medical supplies are hard to come by. Even his best tools are several years out of date and desperately out of calibration. And don't even get him started about the perpetually sorry state of his drug cabinet. After months of constant begging, borrowing, and stealing, Simon's infirmary _had_ achieved a state his med-school self would have called 'a hopeless disaster' and his current self called 'adequate'.

Of course, after Dean's little _episode_ , his infirmary is nothing better than 'ransacked' by any definition.

In the tradition of all babies everywhere, Emma decides to make things complicated at the worst possible time. Just a few hours earlier, and they could have made a detour to a small depot. Of course, until a few minutes ago, Emma hadn't given a single indication of being anything but a textbook-perfect baby, so there had been no need to change course. Just a few hours later, and they would be at Singer Salvage, an old Browncoat hub. While neither location is ideal, they at least have some solid supplies stocked away, which is more than Simon has available right now.

Naturally, Emma waited until they were too far away to turn back, and too far away to get where they were going, before deciding that she wanted to sow a little chaos. Luckily, Simon doesn't have to worry about offending young ears with his language quite yet.

So far, Zoë is handling labor like she handles everything else: quietly and competently. Simon has never seen such single-minded calm and confidence in a first-time mother before. She hasn't complained, not once, despite having every reason to. Mal doesn't have nearly such a good record. Thankfully Jayne (of all people!) had given the Captain a stern-talking to, and he'd been much better behaved ever since.

Simon glances at the windows. They're covered in some ghastly gingham fabric. When had that happened? Whatever. He has better things to be worrying about. Like the fact that there is a _lot_ more blood staining the towel between Zoë's knees than there should be at this point in the proceedings.

It's hard to tell through the spiderweb of cracks on his scanner screen (courtesy of River trying to kick an intruder and missing spectacularly a few weeks ago) but he is pretty sure that he has a placental disruption on his hands. Odd, for this stage of labor, but stranger things have been known to happen. The trick is that a prematurely detaching placenta can go from a minor inconvenience to a deadly complication in a matter of minutes.

"There a problem, Doc?" Zoë asks between pants. Simon smooths the worry from his face and gives a reassuring smile.

"Nothing we can't handle," he assures her. "We might have to do a Caesarean delivery, but we're prepared for that."

Or at least, he _had_ been, until Dean completely drained his entire stash of anesthetics and most of his analgesics and antiseptics. He can cobble something together if he has to, but 'cobble' and 'emergency surgery' are two words that should _never_ go together.

"That means there's a problem," Mal states worriedly, his grip on Zoë's hand even tighter than her grasp on the examination chair arms.

"Everything is going to be fine," Simon assures them again as he dashes through the tiny infirmary, hoping against hope he'd missed some vial or shot in some corner. No such luck.

Well, the easy way (aka normal vaginal birth) is quickly becoming untenable, if the growing puddle of blood is any indication. The hard way ( aka traditional surgery) isn't possible, courtesy of his bare shelves. That leaves them with any means Simon can think of in the next thirty seconds. He's a genius, but as a fellow genius once said; he can't make bricks without clay.

"Castiel!" he shouts at the door. Not his first choice for a nurse, but he needs Mal to keep Zoë calm and Inara to take care of the baby later and River and Kaylee to fly the ship as fast as they can to a safe harbor and Sam and Jayne to keep Dean from killing them all and that doesn't leave him with any other options.

"What is that which you require?" the odd man hovers at the door.

"You have any surgical experience?" Simon snaps as he readies one of his few remaining syringes.

"Extensive," Castiel nods affirmatively and briskly strips off his trenchcoat and suit jacket. It's obvious that he knows what he is doing from the way he scrubs in, and Simon relaxes just a fraction. There's enough that could go sideways already without an amateur distracting him.

"We're doing an emergency C-section and I need you to keep Zoë still."

" _What?!"_ Mal exclaims. Zoë turns a shade paler under her natural tan.

"I have enough painkillers," he rushes to calm them both, "But I can't put you under, and I can't risk you moving about while I do this, understood? You and Emma are going to be just fine," he rashly promises.

"Yessir," Zoë nods and sets her jaw like the soldier she is.

He's only done this surgery once before, but it's not something you forget. Of course, when Simon did this the first time, his laser scalpel didn't fizzle and die during the final cut through the uterus. There wasn't blood under his feet, making his stance slippery. There wasn't a nervous Captain muttering prayers to a God he no longer believes in taking up space in his surgery and there certainly wasn't an ex-Operative holding the moaning mother to the table because the analgesics were wearing off far too soon because he didn't have enough to dose her properly.

Simon slaps the ineffective tool in a vain attempt in jarring it on again, but there's no use. He doesn't want to risk cutting the baby with a traditional metal scalpel, but he doesn't have a choice at this point. Zoë is crashing, and if she goes now the baby goes with her.

Once he's inside, everything's a worse mess than he'd feared. The placenta is shredded, hemorrhaging everywhere. He barely takes the time to make sure the baby is breathing before passing her off to Inara.

The infirmary falls eerily silent moments later as Zoë loses her tentative grip on consciousness. Castiel puts two fingers to her forehead as his own creases in concentration. Her failing stats stabilize, for no particular reason Simon can see, but at this point he will take whatever miracle he can get. He orders Castiel to set up a blood transfusion while he tries to control the internal bleeding. It's no use, and after a minute of futile struggling Simon gives up. A hysterectomy is an extreme measure, but he knows it will work and Zoë can't lose any more blood. It's a harsh thought, but Simon is pretty sure that she wasn't planning on having any more kids anyway, what with Wash and all. Mal abruptly stands and leaves as Simon places the ruined organ on a tray beside him. The sound of retching can be heard in the hall, and the Captain doesn't return.

Castiel deftly hands Simon the tools he needs with minimal prompting. He's a steadying presence amidst all the chaos, and Simon is grateful for it.

The baby is oddly quiet, but Simon can't spare any worry for Emma. If something is wrong, Inara is going to have to handle it on her own. Zoë's clinging to life by a thread, and he refuses to lose her. Not like this. Not now, after everything.


	20. Sound and Silence

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I'm moving to another state, planning a wedding, starting a new job... bottom line, I'm not going to be able to post regularly for a while. But I'm not going to abandon my stories or my lovely readers, never fear. Thanks for your support and patience.**

 **It's comic book cannon that Zoë almost bled out during Emma's birth (and yes, the child's name is canonically Emma). Gina Torres, the actress that played Zoë, mentioned that the child had beige skin and red curly hair in an interview.**

 **Warnings for blood, vomiting, and general chaos. This isn't the chapter I originally intended to write, but it's the one that got written.**

-o-o-o-

Inara gently brushes her fingers across Emma's hair, marveling in its softness. The short tight ringlets are a remarkably vibrant red, a lovely contrast to her tan skin. Emma would be breaking hearts when she was older, of that Inara was certain. She was certainly breaking hearts now.

Wash's eyes stare at her curiously as Inara smooths the silk shawl currently swaddling the child. The wail of health monitors coming from the infirmary is jarring even on the far side of the lounge. For some reason, Emma doesn't seem to mind the noise. She's been silent ever since Simon practically threw her into Inara's arms.

"Your mother is a strong woman," Inara whispers, holding the baby close. "There's nothing she can't do. Everything will be just fine. Everyone is going to be okay, just you see."

They are foolish words, she well knows. Inara can still feel the _crunch_ of Zoë's dried blood flaking off her feet from where it soaked through her thin fabric slippers.

Jayne turns at the sound of her voice, but says nothing. He's been standing at the entryway to the rest of the ship for hours now, his gun at the ready in his hands. No one but Castiel and herself had been permitted into the area, and then only grudgingly. He wouldn't let her leave with Emma to go to her own shuttle either, gruffly telling Inara that it was easier to guard them this way, and besides the kid shouldn't be far from her ma in case… well. Just in case. His dogged determination to protect them is sort of sweet, in a Jayne kind of way.

The ship jostles unexpectedly, causing Inara to reflexively clutch her precious bundle. Emma lets out a startled _mewl_ of protest that is barely heard over the encompassing _shriek_ of metal. The painful sound cuts off as quickly as it started, allowing the combined voices of Kaylee and River swearing up a storm at each other to be clearly heard. Apparently one of Kaylee's many jury-rigs finally blew, and in a truly spectacular fashion. Of all the times for Mal's credit-pinching to bite them in the _pìgu_ … Inara takes a deep breath, and then another, relying on her training as a Companion to remain calm despite this impossible situation.

Of course, none of her instructors could have predicted that one day she'd be sitting in an empty lounge in an antique Firefly guarded by a mercenary, telling optimistic lies to a baby who was not hers while trying not to listen to the intermittent wail of alarms as one of her few friends clung to life as they hurtled through space on a failing engine towards a junkyard run by a grizzled old Browncoat that they only know about because of the word of an ex-Operative.

The ship shudders and _groans_ around them, causing the power to flicker for a moment that feels like hours. The now-familiar _roar_ of Reaver-Dean echoes from down the hall in the eerie silence. Jayne tightens his grip on his weapon, the tiny _creak_ of leather acting almost like a signal for the returning rush of noise and light.

Simon's cursing joins Kaylee's and River's in the general cacophony of metallic _bangs_ and electronic beeping. The infirmary door slams against the wall with a _crack_ like a gunshot as Mal stumbles into the main room, his face white but his clothing stained red. The steady sound of Castiel chanting a prayer in some unfamiliar language mingles with the captain's retching. Once he's done, he methodically shucks his bloody shirt and drops it onto the floor with a sickening _splat_ to soak up the mess. Mal doesn't even try to make it to Inara's bench, choosing instead to slump onto the floor with a weary exhale a few steps away. Inara feels the _thump_ through the wall at her back as he tips his weary head towards the ceiling. The uncharacteristic tears dripping down his cheeks are louder than screams.

"Everything is going to be fine."

Inara isn't sure who she's trying to convince with that lie anymore.


	21. Impression vs Reputation

**A/N: I wanted to get these guys to a safe harbor before life makes me abandon them again for a little while. (Not forever though! I have plans for this story and shall return as soon as real life permits.)**

 **No particular warnings beyond Firefly-Chinese swearing. Thanks for all the reviews!**

* * *

"Mayday, mayday, Singer Salvage, come in Singer Salvage, this is _Serenity_ requesting assistance…"

Bobby picked up the blaring comm and squarked twice to signal his presence.

"Serenity, this is Singer, whatcha want?" It was far too late… no, early for this _joo fuen chse_. Every browncoat worth his jacket knew about the _Serenity_ after the whole Miranda fiasco, but what the _ai yah tien ah_ was that ship doing here?

"Our Stromburg transformer is nonfunctional and we have a crewmember experiencing a medical emergency that requires more specialized facilities," the gal on the other end of the line said with crisp efficiency. For all her professionalism, she didn't sound near old enough to be flyin' a ship. Of course, he'd served with far younger during the War.

"Alright. What's your location?" Bobby flipped on his tracking and monitoring equipment. His little operation was well-masked in the asteroid field, but the _Serenity_ seemed to be making a beeline for him anyway. The only way they could do that was if they already knew exactly where he was. Which wasn't possible, because he'd remember if _Serenity_ had popped by before. And to the best of his knowledge, no one who'd visited him here was flying on her now.

"ETA five minutes, assuming current speed and maneuverability," the pilot replied. "I will be unable to make a standard landing due to various ongoing engine malfunctions. Could you deliver a Stromburg transformer via speeder?"

"Hold on a tick," Bobby pulled off his hat and rubbed his fingers through his thinning hair. "You can't be meaning to install that in-air. You'll blow the whole ship to kingdom come!"

"Kaylee assures me that it can be done, and it is theoretically possible," the unflappable pilot assured him. "Do you have one and can it be delivered?"

"Yeah," he acquiesced. "Although if you damage my facilities I'll…"

"Good," she interrupted before rattling off some coordinates just over his junkyard. Her tone was still neutral, but metallic groaning punctuated her message with a sense of urgency. "We'll be waiting for you. River out."

Bobby blinked at the comm in his hand. _River_? _The_ River that took out a whole base full of Reavers and made the Alliance shake in it's boots? He'd heard plenty, but he wasn't aware that she could fly a ship as well. Or that she was still a gorram _kid_.

* * *

A few minutes later Bobby docked with what had to be the sorriest-looking Firefly he'd ever seen outside of a scrap heap. _This_ was the famed _Serenity_? If it wasn't for the sigil painted on the side he would have never believed it.

As soon as he opened the door, he was shoved aside by a man in a blood-splattered white coat pulling a gurney.

"Please tell me you have some medical supplies somewhere in here?" the doctor said without preamble or introduction before yanking open random drawers.

"Bobby Singer, nice to meet you," he grumbled, pulling out the battered med kit from behind the pilot's seat. The physician snatched it without another word and tore it open. If this was the Serenity, and it was River in the cockpit, then this would be Doctor Simon Tam. At least, if Bobby's sources could be believed. And they usually could. The blood-spattered and exhausted-looking man was supposed to be the best trauma surgeon out on the Rim by a light-year, and Bobby was inclined to believe the reports. He'd not seen that particular look of harried competence since the War.

Bobby had to admit that the lady on the table didn't look too good, despite Doc Tam's frantic ministrations. Rusty memory supplied that she must be the first mate, Zoe. There weren't that many women with her reputation among the Browncoat population. If half of what he'd heard was true, then Mal didn't deserve her, not one bit.

The captain himself appeared to be pushing the gurney. He didn't look to be doing much better than Zoe, if his color was anything to judge by.

"Captain Malcolm Reynolds?" Bobby shoved his way around the doc and into Serenity's loading bay. "Care to explain what's going on? Oh, or how you found me?" The haggard man barely opened his mouth before Bobby spotted a familiar face over the captain's shoulder. "Cas? That you?" Well, that certainly answered some questions and raised quite a few more.

"Singer." Damn boy looked exactly as he always did: messy hair and untied trenchcoat and those big blue eyes that knew too damn much and too damn little all at once.

"What…"

"Dean released the Reaver," Cas explained in his usual monotone. Bobby felt the air whoosh out of him in shock. _Winchesters_ on this ship? No wonder things were so humped. He'd not heard from them since they'd left his place after Dean's last relapse, but he knew them well enough to not be surprised that they'd gravitated to a trouble-magnet like the Serenity. Fire, meet rocket fuel. Nothing like a good explosion to make you feel alive of a morning.

"Emma's birth ran into… complications," Cas continued. "The ship requires immediate repairs. Can you assist?" The _Serenity_ rocked suddenly underneath them with a groan matched by Zoe, lending credence to his words.

Bobby closed his eyes and took a deep breath. They were ijits, the lot of them, but the 'verse owed them, and it looked like Bobby was the one that was going to be paying the tab.

"Of course, boy. That's why I'm here," Bobby adjusted his hat and started prioritizing. "I assume Dean and Sam are in the Impala? Get them to park out back, they know the place. Everyone but your mechanic and pilot should get into my speeder and go inside. The door's open and infirmary is straight back behind the red door. If something's locked, or you don't know what it is, don't touch unless you want to lose a hand or worse. Everything else should be self explanatory. I'll stay and help with the engine. _Dong ma_?"

" _Dong ma_ ," Mal's shoulders slumped with relief. The burden of command was a heavy one at the best of times, and this was pretty close to the worst. The poor man looked as if he hadn't slept for a week. Bobby could certainly empathize.

"Now I gotta get these parts to your mechanic," he hefted the bag over his shoulder. "Get to it."

On his way to the engine room he passed a Companion carrying a newborn babe in her shawl. Inara. The Companion's Guild had a lot to say about her, none of it complementary. They were an invaluable source of Core intel, but from what Bobby had heard of the _Serenity_ from elsewhere, he was reasonably sure that her character and behavior did not deserve their reproach. His opinion was confirmed by her protective care of the baby and her somehow still perfectly-coiffed hair.

"Staying in trouble, I see?" Bobby drawled at Jayne as he passed. He'd not seen the kid in years, ever since that debacle on Santo. His ma made the best hooch in the 'verse, and Bobby made sure to keep that particular little secret to himself. The mercenary ducked his head as Inara's eyes widened a fraction. "Ya get that hat your ma sent you?"

"Yessir," Jayne said respectfully, as he should.

"Good. Now get these people settled safe," Bobby ordered. "Don't shoot anything…"

"...that ain't tryin' ta kill us, I know," Jayne finished his sentence. He shot the boy a glare. "Sir," he stammered before hustling the remaining crew into the shuttle.

Ijits, the lot of them. Bobby rolled his eyes as he climbed up the stairs. Smoke was starting to billow out of the engine room.

"'Bout gorram time!" A grease-smeared lass snatched his bag of parts and disappeared into the cloud. This must be the infamous Kaylee. Bobby followed her into the heart of the dying ship.

" _Juh shi suh mo go dohng shee_?!" he swore behind his upraised hand. It was a totally ineffectual defense against the pervading smoke, but he couldn't help himself. He'd seen some messes in his life, hell, he'd made plenty in his time. But this was something else.

"Stop starin' and start helpin'!" Kaylee threw a toolbox in his direction. "If the Malforian transcoupler blows there won't be a gorrram thing I can do to keep us from falling straight outta the sky."

Bobby skimmed the mess of wires and tubing with a practiced eye. It was a chaotic disaster, but once he saw what she had to work with and what she'd been able to to with it, his respect for her abilities bumped up quite a few notches. They might just be able to pull off the impossible after all. Of course, that's what this crew apparently did. Time for them to live up to their reputations.


End file.
